


Diamonds in a Rhinestone World

by unablearethelovedto_die



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unablearethelovedto_die/pseuds/unablearethelovedto_die
Summary: AU, non-magic real world. When the Weasley brothers move into the shop upstairs, Hermione Granger is more concerned about the noise and dust than anything else. But the gemstones she works with have their own agenda and she soon finds herself drawn to one particular Weasley.





	1. Chapter 1

**This story has been on the go for ages in one form or another but I got side-tracked. Anyway it is finally finished and I’m glad to be rid of it! I hope to submit a new chapter every week once I have spell/grammar checked it.**

**Complete disclosure: I know very little about jewellery and gemstones and every ‘fact’ I have used has been gleaned from the internet. Apologies to those of you who know more than me/the right way of things.**

**JUNE/ALEXANDRITE**

**A variety of chrysoberyl, alexandrite has the rare geologic property of colour shift in varying levels of light. In Russia it is considered a sign of good omens and fortune. In Vedic astrology it is linked to Mercury; the enhancement of communication, mental clarity and emotional balance. However, given its colour changing properties, it also links in with Mercury's reputation as both the messenger and the magician. It reminds us how quickly our thoughts and mind change.**

The Golden Snitch was one of the oldest shops in the village of Twain and by far the prettiest. Built in the 1890’s, it had been owned by the Vossler family since the first brick had been laid and had been passed down through the generations. Its current owner, Wilhelm Vossler, had taken over when he was just 25 and had remained devoted to upholding the beauty of the shop and the reputation of the business to this day. He was scrupulous in the maintenance of the unusual caramel-coloured ceramic tile shop front with its extravagant arched windows and cornicing. Inside, the emerald carpets were brushed and vacuumed fastidiously so the pile remained high and customers could feel themselves sink into it when they entered. The original mahogany cabinets and brass fixtures were polished to a high shine regularly so the shop always held the comforting, old fashioned aroma of beeswax. Once the building had housed the shop on the bottom floor and the family residence on the upper, however Wilhelm had chosen to sell the second floor and now lived in a comfortably grand house in the village. 

Wilhelm's great-grandfather had opened the shop with the meagre savings his family had so it been important that he provide a service that was more genuine, personal and sumptuous than his rivals. The store had to succeed and Jacob Vossler toiled hard to ensure his customers received the very best. The jewellery and gemstones he sold were sourced from carefully researched sources, the watches from only the finest watchmakers.

He was not without humour however. When it came to naming the little shop on the corner of Elsmore Street, Jacob felt that 'Vossler's' would be a name that got lost amongst that of his competitors. It needed to stand out.

The story that was passed down to Wilhelm was that his shop was named after Jacob's wife's beloved cat Mittens, a large ginger beast who did not favour Jacob and was accustomed to waking his mistress in the night if Jacob had not come to bed and was partaking in a glass or two downstairs. When Jacob Vossler finally retired for the night, both Mrs. Vossler and Mittens would be awake, sitting in bed waiting for him so his wife could express her disapproval. Jacob could often be heard lamenting that 'the Golden Snitch' was always watching, ready to tell tales. When he unveiled the newly named shop, Mrs. Vossler was so tickled by him 'honouring' her cat that she purchased a red velvet cushion for the counter and Mittens would sit in state, presiding over the daily comings and goings. How Jacob took the omnipresence of his nemesis remained unknown although it was said that when Mittens died at the grand old age of 21, Jacob had him stuffed and mounted, mouth sewn shut.

Hermione had worked in The Golden Snitch since she was sixteen. What had started as every Saturday afternoon, progressed to a summer job when she returned from university each year and when she bounded home for the last time, degree under one arm, ready to take on the world, she found herself agreeing to work there full time, until she got a 'proper job'. That was eight years ago.

Hermione had been cognizant of the fact that History of Art wasn't exactly a practical qualification and that it might take some time to find a role where she could use her knowledge. Still, as she worked away each day at the jeweller's, she comforted herself with the knowledge that eventually, the right job would come along; perhaps she could be a curator for a museum or an archivist. She had even thought about teaching.

Despite all her daydreaming, however, something kept her with Wilhelm Vossler. Jobs would appear in the local paper or online and she would duly fill in the application, send it away. But something would always happen in the meantime. The time of the interview didn't suit or she had run into an old university friend who had worked at the prospective company and warned her off. If she did attend the interview, she might be put off by the facilities or Head of Department's attitude. In her time at the Golden Snitch she had received four serious job offers and had turned them all down for one reason or another.

Sometimes, when she thought about it, that surprised Hermione. She had been fiercely ambitious at school and university, racing through exams and extra tuition, burning through projects and dissertations. She wanted to get out there and make a difference. If sixteen year old Hermione had been told that she would still be working in the Golden Snitch at 29 she would have scoffed. Children see things in black and white and working in the jeweller's seemed like something you did until you became a real grown up. Who turns their Saturday job into their career?

The benefits of adulthood are though, that you can start to see the grayscale and the grayscale in this case was simply that Hermione loved her job. Mr. Vossler was a sweet man who trusted her implicitly with decisions about the business and gave every suggestion she made due consideration. The working hours were good: she had every evening and Sunday off plus generous holiday leave which she mostly didn't take because it left the shop short staffed. She liked working with the antique jewellery and researching its provenance and she especially enjoyed selling the pre-owned pieces on to a new person. There was something so satisfying about beloved heirlooms getting a new lease of life with someone else.

An added bonus was that Wilhelm would let her wear the pieces while she worked in the shop and she had her pick. Hermione's tastes were pared back and simple and she often chose a fine gold necklace or charm bracelet, much to Wilhelm's displeasure. He couldn't quite persuade her to don any of the flamboyant costume jewellery he loved so much, though he tried frequently.

Today, Hermione was wearing something that actually belonged to her: a set of drop earrings with green alexandrite set in yellow gold. They had been a gift from Wilhelm Vossler on her 21st birthday and were easily the most expensive thing she owned. They had been Wilhelm's mother's and it always put a spring in his step to see her wearing them.

She had teamed them with a light green linen shirt that was as thin as she could get away with whilst being professional. June had brought with it a sweltering heat wave and the shop with its opulent carpets and acres of windows was not the ideal place to spend 8 hours a day. As she laid out the green velvet trays in the windows, she heard the door to the back room open.

"Another glorious day Hermione Granger," Wilhelm singsonged, depositing a large ginger cat on the carpet. Bogart was one of a long line of cats that had graced the shop floor. Despite Jacob Vossler's strong misgivings about Mittens it had been seen as a good omen that the shop did so well in his presence. Thereafter, the Golden Snitch had never been without a cat; they all had to be male and they all had to be orange. The current resident was named after Wilhelm's favourite black and white movie star and wore a smart purple collar with a bell.

"I could do with a little less heat Wilhelm," she replied, giving Bogart an obligatory scratch on the head as he sauntered by. "It's like a greenhouse in here."

Wilhelm nodded absently, humming as he adjusted items in the cabinets. Hermione finished with the window and returned the boxes to the drawers by his feet. As she stood he gently grasped her arm and studied the earrings. "So beautiful in the green. Any sign of the red?"

Hermione smiled ruefully and shook her head. Since the day he had presented them to her, Wilhelm had insisted the alexandrite was of the rare variety that can appear to change colour. He had never witnessed it himself but his mother had told him in certain lights the green gems would appear to be shot through with red. Hermione had taken the earrings into all sorts of lighting conditions but they had never appeared anything other than resolutely green. She didn't have the heart to suggest to Wilhelm that perhaps the stones weren't what he thought.

"Never mind," he chirped cheerfully, "It will come."

Their routine was reassuringly familiar: opening of the doors for the start of business, something sweet for Wilhelm's favourite part of the day 'elevenses' and then the rest of the day passing in a blur of customers, repairs, researching, polishing and buffing.

This morning, the box that Mark presented was mint green which meant macarons, which they ate with tea from a warmed pot in their favourite cups. Wilhelm was telling them about a delivery of watches due to arrive tomorrow that would require engraving when an ear splitting drone resonated through the shop and reached them in the back office.

“God, are they ever going to finish those renovations?” Hermione spat angrily, having listened to the same noise or a variance of it for the last six weeks.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Have you met them yet? I heard it was a family that had moved in,” Mark replied nonchalantly, swiping an app on his tablet.

“It is two brothers I believe Mark,” Wilhelm said at last, wiping his mouth politely. “I met one of them a few weeks ago, George Weasley. A lovely chap, moved up here from Devon. Ottery St Catchpole. Isn’t that a magical name for a village? He apologised for all the noise and dust. I believe the shop upstairs was in rather a sorry state. It has been derelict for years. So refreshing that it is having new life breathed into it.”

Wilhelm had repeatedly complained to the Twain council about their dilapidated neighbour, saying its slow decline was ruining the aesthetic of The Snitch. When the council cited cutbacks as the reason for their reticence to improve the façade, Wilhelm paid for the brickwork to be repointed and the window ledges sandblasted and painted so it could at least look, from the outside, well maintained. The inside, however, had been left to rot.

“But how can they still be at it?” Hermione demanded now, aware she was taking the seemingly continuous noise much harder than anyone else. She reasoned with herself this was because she spent more time than anyone else in the shop, closest to the racket. Last week the dust had been so bad they couldn’t open windows so she had steamed like a side of ham all week in the baking hot sun, becoming more and more irate.

“These things take time Hermione. Besides, all stories need to throw the heroine a few little irritants every now and then. It makes life interesting.” It amused Wilhelm to narrate Hermione as though she was the protagonist of a film of her life, muttering little asides about the men she dated as being worthy or unworthy of being contenders for the role of leading man. Not that she dated that much; when you live, work and socialise in the village you grew up in, the dating pool tends to be limited to boys who used to ping your bra strap in school, old teachers and babysitting charges from when you were fourteen.

Every so often she would renew her efforts: taking up offers from friends to stay weekends in London, Glasgow and Belfast to go out and meet people, joining dating websites, allowing her well-meaning best friend Suzy to set her up on blind dates. It never stuck, even the ones she was faintly hopeful about at the start. Inevitably something would turn her off them or them off her and she would accept defeat. Wilhelm told her she was her own crown of thorns, that she couldn’t just let things breathe and come right in their own time. ‘Letting the petals open before you sniff the flower’ was how he put it.

Hermione wasn’t one to let anything happen by itself- she was pushy by her own admission. It was what got her a First at university and it gave her the edge when she sold pieces in the shop. She had drive and determination and it rankled slightly that this didn’t seem to sit well with the men she dated. Why couldn’t she meet someone who liked that about her? Who just liked _her_?

The day rolled on, the noise unceasing although it alternated between loud sharp bangs, dull cracks and the long whine of a sander which added a bit of variety. Hermione spent the afternoon interspersing changing watch batteries and looking at VAT forms with bouts of unadulterated rage. Was at this really necessary? What were they doing up there, these odd brothers she hadn’t even seen in the six weeks they had been tearing down the shop upstairs.

_I bet they’re old and really weird_, she thought spitefully, flipping the back off a fob watch. _I bet they lived with their mother in Devon and now they’re going to open a shop selling DVDs of alien autopsies or outfits for cats or something else bizarre. Probably a real pair of shut-ins._

The door jangled and she looked up, lost in her daydream. The man that walked through the door was tall and lean, lengthy limbs wrapped in dusty blue jeans and fitted grey t shirt. His hair was red and shaggy, curling in sweaty loops on his neck and forehead. A dark V of sweat clung the t shirt to his skin, displaying a chest that wasn't exactly brawny but sort of _hard. _Firm. Like it had been toughened through physical labour. The sleeves of the t shirt stopped mid upper arm, revealing the cut of his biceps. Again, not hugely enlarged but certainly defined. He looked strong and capable.

Hermione surprised herself with deducing all this quite so quickly, in just the split second of his entrance. He took a moment to look around, spotted her standing behind the counter and ambled over.

Smiling, he wiped his hand down his thigh and held it out. "Ron Weasley. We're going to be neighbours."

_Big hands_. "Hermione Granger. And will you be making that racket for much longer Ron?" The barb was out of her mouth before she could stop it. _This was the shut-in?_

Ron laughed as he turned a full 360 and took in the shop. "Not for too much longer Hermione. We have a few more things to square up before we open and then we'll be all set. This is a really nice place. Expensive no doubt."

"It depends what you buy I suppose." Her eyes followed him as he bent to look into the cabinets, resting one hand on the glass top. She could already see the dust shedding from his skin and resolved to grab the Windolene the minute he left.

"Mental note," he replied, whistling between his teeth, "Don't buy anything from _this_ counter!" Hermione opened her mouth to sharply respond when he glanced up and smiled at her. A full force, megawatt grin that she felt somewhere in her knees. His blue eyes sparkled with humour and she paused for a second, taking in his charismatic face, smudged with dust.

Feeling something akin to horror but unable to stop herself, Hermione watched her hand reach out towards his face. Ron stilled as it approached him, the ghost of his smile still on his lips. Within inches of his skin, she pulled her hand back, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"I... uh. You have dirt on your nose. Did you know?"

Ron laughed again and straightened. "I have dirt everywhere Hermione. It's a filthy business taking down walls." He made for the door and turned back to look at her over his shoulder. "Well I just wanted to drop in and introduce myself. I'm sure we'll see more of each other. Now I'm on top of you."

The little bell rang again as the door closed behind him and Hermione stood, mouth slightly agape. Did he just say....? Had he been _flirting_ with her? She raised a sweaty palm to her cheek and found herself flushing, if that was even possible in this heat. She was still wondering what had just occurred when Mark came out from the back office and skirted round the counter.

"It's not five o'clock for another ten minutes,” she tutted, regaining her composure.

“I’m not ruled by The Man Hermione. I’m a lone wolf, I follow my own rules.”

She smirked. “Wilhelm has sent you on some mad errand hasn’t he?”

Mark grimaced. “Auction house. There’s a lot of Alexander McQueen he wants. Tomorrow fair maiden.” He dipped low in a curtsey and left.

The week passed at a snail’s pace, Wilhelm in unusually foul form because Mark had failed to secure the McQueen. The only bright spells had been glimpses of Ron Weasley as he whipped by the shop window, suddenly incredibly visible; one minute lugging boxes, the next pushing a trolley on which a cement mixer was precariously jolting around. There was something strangely enticing about him and Hermione didn’t put her finger on it until Friday afternoon as she watched Ron and George standing next to their skip, full to the brim with dust covered items, eating ice cream cones. Ron said something and laughed, which caused George to shove his arm before breaking into laughter himself. Dr Foley had joined them as he walked from the surgery and they chatted to him easily, as though they had been friends for years.

That was when she had realised what was so appealing about Ron. He was… _warm. _It was a stupid word to describe him but it was the best she could do. He was friendly, nearly always smiling or laughing. Watching him in the sun animatedly describing something to Dr Foley she felt herself grin. It was infectious.

She watched them until they finished their ice cream and went back upstairs through their separate front door at the side of the building, lazily pretending to be cleaning the glass topped cabinets. As they disappeared Wilhelm entered the shop and starting working the till, huffily stabbing buttons.

Hermione smiled ruefully and squeezed his shoulder. “There’ll be more McQueen.”

“Not like these,” came the almost imperceptible reply, “One of a kind.”

They worked in silence, Wilhelm examining the display on the till, Hermione removing the window trays and bagging the jewellery. She has just locked the last cabinet when Wilhelm let out a squeal.

“You didn’t tell me!” he admonished, rushing to her side, “When did it happen?”

She stood for a moment, utterly confused. “What? What is it?” He reached up and brushed her hair back from her neck before lightly touching her earlobe.

“The alexandrite. When did it change?”

It took another extended pause before she realised what he was referring to. “I…. What’s happened to it?”

Wilhelm reached behind them and lifted a mirror on a long, thin silver stand. Setting it in front of her, he gently pulled aside the curls that had escaped her hair clip and nodded towards the glass. Hermione leant forward and, for the second time this week, found her mouth dropping open of its own accord. Slightly, but most definitely, the teal of the alexandrite was giving way to red, a barely discernible ribbon of claret curling through both earring drops. How could this be? After eight years of wear, how could they suddenly appear reddened? It was impossible surely.

At least it had improved Wilhelm’s mood exponentially, he was practically dancing next to her. “Oh Hermione, this is a good omen indeed.”

She glanced at him quickly, still mesmerized by the alexandrite. “Is it?”

“Oh yes,” he nodded, pressing his palms together. “Good times ahead.”


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I said I would upload weekly but I uploaded the first chapter of this on a Wednesday which annoyed me because Sunday is usually my upload day. It bugged me enough to warrant uploading the next part now so I can get my Sunday vibes back so two have gone up in a week.**

**Anyway, Chapter 2! Thank you so much for all your feedback. AUs are tricky because the characters are beloved in their original story so I’m aware they aren’t for everyone. I’m happy if they are for you. Enjoy.**

**JULY/RUBY**

**Gem-quality corundum, rubies are considered by many cultures as the stone of kings. They convey power, wealth and control. They are also associated with personal protection and invincibility and it is said that rubies allow warring factions to live peaceably. Colour psychology connects ruby red to love, lust and excitement.**

The Art Deco ring had been in the window for several months before it had generated any serious interest. Jewellery, as with all things, moved in phases. Hermione could guess what was going to be the next big thing depending on what she saw in magazines, in what the Royals had been wearing, even in what was popular in interior design at that moment. There had been a real craze for huge, statement diamonds recently; massive golf ball stud earrings, square cocktail rings, icy waterfalls of necklaces. Such ostentatious pieces meant that other subtler jewellery had to take a back seat for a while.

When Carl and Jennifer came into the shop two weeks previously, they were instantly drawn by the vintage pieces. Jennifer was very clear that she didn't want a brand new engagement ring, she had seen so many recently that were ‘the same’, she wanted something unique.

They had looked at several trays and there was something wrong with everything they tried.

"I'm being too fussy I know," Jennifer said ruefully, setting another ring back into its cushion.

Hermione shook her head. "You can never be too fussy. This is your engagement ring. You will only ever have one so it is very important to get it right." She retreated to the window and pulled out another tray and as she set it on the counter, the Art Deco ring sparkled enticing up at them in the sunlight.

Instantly Jennifer's fingers plucked it from the velvet. "Look at this one!" Sliding it on and straightening her elbow to admire it from afar, Jennifer smiled for the first time since she had come into the shop and Hermione knew she had made a match. One small deposit later, the Art Deco was reserved, two happy people strolled out of the shop arm in arm and Hermione congratulated herself with a fig roll, Thursday's treat.

Today was Wednesday and Carl and Jennifer were due to return to collect the ring. Hermione had laid a strip of soft material down on the glass counter and, carefully removing it from the box, took the chance to give the ring one final examination before it came under new ownership. When the bell jingled she turned towards it with her big, bright 'give me your credit card details' smile and was startled to see Ron standing in the doorway, scowling.

"Can I help you?" She didn't know why she was always so crisp with him. Several times she had run into him recently and on each occasion she had behaved haughtily, snapping his head off over inane things. He made her feel uncomfortable somehow. Not in a creepy way, more as in she couldn't be sure what she would do when he was around. Look what had happened the first time they had met- she had almost caressed his face. In broad daylight. Moments after being introduced. There was something about his reckless laughter, the light way he took everything. It was a mood she could see herself sinking into; she felt the appeal of it drawing her in. Ridiculous really, she wasn't a reckless sort of girl. It would never be a good fit.

Mind you, his mood didn't seem light today, face dark with more than just dust. "Is your boss here today Hermione?" He always used her name and it itched her in a way she didn't quite understand.

She was slow to answer given how fierce he looked. "I'm not sure. I can check..." Unfortunately, Wilhelm chose this exact moment to rush from the back of the shop, door slapping the wall, suit jacket flapping open and displaying the deep cerise lining.

"Hermione why didn't you tell me it was after one?" he huffed as he dipped his hands in and out of his pockets. "The auction starts at two. Where are my keys?"

"Sorry Wilhelm," she replied, producing a bunch of keys from under a pile of paperwork. "I was distracted by the Lysander piece. It's leaving today, and I was giving it a last minute once over. Keys." She stilled one of his hands with one of hers and placed the keys inside it.

Wilhelm stared at them for a moment and then up at her for another moment. Ron used this pause in frantic activity to step up to the counter. "Mr. Vossler, I need to talk to you about the leasehold on our building."

Wilhelm turned his head towards Ron, expression blank, body motionless. Then suddenly he was moving again, stuffing keys into pocket, pushing out round Ron to get to the front door, like the Mad Hatter rushing to the tea party. "I haven't time to meet with you now Mr. Weasley. I'm late for the auction."

"Wait a second," Ron put his hand on Wilhelm's arm, "We discussed this last week. I told you I needed your details for my meeting today. We agreed you would bring the relevant paperwork up."

Wilhelm stopped again and looked up at Ron. This was a classic case of Wilhelm’s inability to prioritise anything that wasn’t directly related to his interests, Hermione had seen it before. He wasn’t deliberately negligent, it just often didn’t occur to him.

“Hermione,” he said now, glancing over his shoulder, slightly irritated, “The documents that Mr. Weasley needs are sitting on the top of the filing cabinet in a red folder. Can you ensure he receives them?” She nodded, he turned and was halfway out the door when he swivelled back. “Oh and the Lysander couple? They telephoned this morning to say they have changed their mind about the ring. They are coming in today to select something else.”

Hermione felt her heart sink. “What? I can’t believe it. When are they getting here?” She failed to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Wilhelm pulled the door shut as he responded. “Around one thirty.”

Gaze flicking to the brass clock above the door, she realised with horror that it was already one thirty five.

"Can you come back later Mr. Weasley? I can help you then," Hermione looked at him questioningly.

Ron smirked a little. "That's what Mr. Vossler said. I'll wait. If that's okay?"

The sentence had a slight intonation, like a question, but Hermione knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Nodding stiffly, she positioned the ring box in the centre of the glass top, exactly in the middle of the fabric. Skirting out round the counter and pulling the plastic kick step with her, she stood up onto it and began angling the little spot lights that hung from the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” She ignored his question- she didn’t have long- and continued until the beams of the three closest lights fell directly on the box. She stepped back down and examined her work. “Is this some sort of Jedi mind trick to make them buy this ring they don’t want?” Returning to behind the counter, she began adjusting the strength of the light with dimmer switches on the wall, before making her way back round to face the closed box. Back up onto the kick step, Hermione adjusted the middle light just a hair. “You can’t make them pick a ring they don’t like. Fancy lights or not.”

Satisfied, she pulled the kick step back behind the counter. Time to grab that paperwork and get rid of Ron before her customers arrived. She twisted towards the office door just as the bell sounded. Too late.

Back on went the megawatt smile. “Jennifer. Carl. I was told to expect you. Come in and take advantage of the new air conditioning unit Mr. Vossler has just had installed. It’s so pleasant in here!” The couple stepped forward and greeted her and Hermione glanced pointedly at Ron. He leant against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other and folded his arms. Settling in. Hermione could feel Jennifer and Carl's eyes on her but, if anything, the situation just hardened her resolve. If Ron thought he was going to intimidate her, he was sadly mistaken.

"So," she turned to the couple, smile hopefully breaking open any hardness her face had taken on speaking to Ron. "Mr. Vossler has told me you have been thinking about your engagement ring. He thought you might have some questions."

Jennifer frowned. "Well, not really questions. I think I have changed my mind. It just isn’t what we are looking for."

Hermione's face remained resolutely upbeat. "It's interesting that you say that. This happens quite a lot after the first initial viewing. It's absolutely natural to doubt your choice. It's a big decision and it's important to work out all these niggles."

"Thank you for being so understanding. I know you put a lot of time into helping us choose." Jennifer smiled apologetically and Carl shifted awkwardly behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron decisively refold his arms. She even thought she could sense him grin and she allowed herself a little inner laugh. He thought she had lost this one; he actually thought this wasn't going her way.

"Well that's my job Jennifer. I'm only here to guide you. I try to be as impartial as possible when it comes to matters like this but I have to confess I was so impressed when you selected the Lysander piece."

Jennifer narrowed her eyes warily. "Really? I was telling my bridesmaids about it and they thought the ruby sounded plain and a bit cheap. They thought I should go for a classic solitaire. Something that would be really fabulous."

So that was it; Jennifer had been swayed by other people's opinions. It wasn't unusual and it wasn't anything Hermione hadn't come up against before.

"Well of course the solitaire diamond is a very popular choice. Diamonds in general are a go-to when dealing in engagement rings. 'Diamonds are forever' as they say." Jennifer nodded eagerly. "But of course that ad campaign was generated by De Beers to drive up the demand for diamonds at a time when they were in huge supply."

"Diamonds?" Carl piped up, "I thought they were rare."

"On the contrary, when diamond rings became fashionable, diamonds were really rather common. When De Beers gained control of the diamond mines, they had to think of a clever way to make diamonds seem like a huge prize. It was the suggestion that this was the case that encouraged so many women to insist on a diamond engagement ring. It's brilliant actually. And while they are rarer now, they don’t hold their value the way that some of the other gemstones do. A diamonds loses fifty percent of its value the moment it leaves the shop."

Hermione paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in. Jennifer looked horrified, Carl just looked confused. She couldn't make out Ron's expression but he had grown very still so she took this as a good sign. _Watch this, Weasley._

"Before the single diamond craze, it was much more popular to combine diamonds with other stones such as rubies and sapphires. Such as the Lysander piece." Reverently, Hermione stroked the strip of cream velvet on the glass. "The Art Deco period was a truly beautiful time for jewellery. It started in France and represented luxury, glamour, boldness. It influenced everything: architecture, textiles, sculpture, art." She laid a gentle finger on the top of the ring box.

"The jewellery designers of the period were tired of diamonds alone, that look was overdone. Sometimes even beautiful gemstones can oversaturate the market." She leant in slightly, voice smooth. "When you see the same thing in every shop window, it's not surprising you seek out something entirely unique." She was talking exclusively to Jennifer now.

"Which is why they started creating pieces with other gemstones. Did you know that in nature rubies are rarer than diamonds Jennifer?" Jennifer shook her head. "Oh without a doubt, especially something as high quality as this." With a light click, Hermione opened the green leather case and allowed Jennifer to view the ring in its snug cradle for just a moment before lifting it out, setting the box aside and then holding the ring lightly in her fingertips.

"For centuries rubies have been considered a symbol of wealth and personal protection. The ancient Burmese believed rubies would bestow invincibility in their soldiers. They actually buried them in their skin. Many cultures consider rubies to be the most precious gemstone, the 'king' if you like."

As she spoke, leaning conspiratorially closer to Jennifer who appeared spellbound, she moved the ring in her fingers, barely perceptible, causing the light to twinkle on the red stone, firing it from within.

"This ring is early Art Deco, commissioned by Lord Harry Lysander for his wife Lady Emily. The four diamonds were set at the compass points of North, South, East and West to represent Lord Lysander's work with the Royal Navy. It was considered lucky- Lady Lysander gave it to her husband on every trip he took so he could return it to her when he docked home safely. Which he did every time. The ring was passed through the Lysander family and brought to us by their great granddaughter. Mr. Vossler has a very special relationship with the Lysander family and they trust only him with selling their pieces. They are such exclusive one-offs; they know Mr. Vossler wouldn't sell them to just anyone."

Jennifer reached for the ring and slipped it onto her finger muttering something about taking another look and in that moment Hermione knew it was all over. Ball in the hoop, goal in the net. Happiness achieved. Ten minutes later, Carl and Jennifer were strolling arm in arm out of the Golden Snitch, Jennifer proudly displaying her ring as she superfluously rested her hand on Carl's bicep.

As the door chimed shut behind them, Hermione heard the clap of Ron's hands as he performed a slow applause.

"That. Was. Something. Else."

She lowered her eyes graciously. "Thank you." Inside she was glowing with pleasure. Why did he have this effect on her, this overwhelming desire to impress him? It was so obvious in her smart arse responses and showing off, surely he could tell. The thought that she was so obvious brought a flush to her cheeks and she made a show of delicately folding the cream velvet and placing it back into the top drawer.

Ron pushed off the mahogany and walked over. "Honestly I thought you were finished. When she was talking about the bridesmaid hating it I wrote you off. I thought 'There's no way she's going to pull this back'". Ron held his hand up in mock surrender. "Clearly I underestimated you Hermione."

She smirked and hopped onto the kick step, returning the lights to their original positions. "Honestly it isn't that difficult. It's my job. I just know how to do it well."

Ron whistled low. "Obviously." His blue eyes met hers and for a moment neither spoke. Hermione felt the air crackle and she wondered if Ron could feel it too.

"Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?" Seemingly he did. She pretended to pause for a second and he carried on. "You can teach me some of that magic sales pitch. I could do with the lesson."

Hermione felt herself smile. "Alright. But I'm sure you'll find it very dull.

~

Ron proved to be more attentive than Hermione had expected. When he'd arrived the next day with a plastic bag dangling from one arm, she had almost made up an excuse not to go. Wilhelm had been delighted that she had a lunch date however, and had forced her out of the shop. Ron had walked her to the grassy bank next to the railway track and they sat amongst the wildflowers eating sandwiches, a bag of crisps open between them.

"There's no magic to it, I assure you," Hermione laughed, drinking from her water, "I have been doing the job a long time. You learn how to sell things."

"But don't you feel bad? I mean, she came in and didn't want to buy that ring. But you talked her into it. Don't you think she’ll regret it?"

"That's the secret," Hermione replied, pointing her finger at him, "Knowing when they genuinely don't want the item anymore and when they are just wobbling because of something else. I sold that ring to Jennifer and Carl and they loved it. It matched all of Jennifer's requirements and even if it hadn't, I could see it when she put it on. It belonged with her. I consider it a miscarriage of justice if pieces don't end up with the people they are meant to."

Ron hooted. "You take this very seriously!"

"Of course I do! It's important. Don’t you take your job seriously?"

Ron took a long sip of water before answering. "That lives to be seen. What about all that back story? Burmese soldiers for God's sake. How much of that was true?"

Hermione noticed he had changed the subject but decided she didn't know him well enough to push. "All of that was true. Wilhelm insists we know about what we are selling. I started in the shop when I was 16 and I've been learning ever since. Wilhelm and Margot taught me about the gemstones, precious metals, cuts, time periods. Wilhelm has a very high regard for the pieces. I think he feels it pays respect to them if you know the history."

“Is Margot someone you work with?”

“Work is a strong word,” Hermione replied drolly. “Margot has been there a long time, she knows her stuff and Wilhelm adores her. She could have been a partner but she’s sort of stuck- she doesn’t want to learn new skills or take courses. She’s happiest making tea and doing the polishing and working as few hours as she can. I suppose she figures there are younger people in the shop now so why bother?”

“And the blonde guy with the nippy Mazda?”

“Mark. He’s the son of a family friend, fingers in loads of pies. He _is_ a partner so he does a bit of everything. He’s in the trade so he knows what he’s doing but he’s not with us every day- he travels around to his various businesses but he has a soft spot for the Snitch so we see him a fair bit. Usually though it’s just me and Wilhelm with Margot wielding the teapot and bringing up the rear.”

“And what about you? Are you a partner?”

Hermione felt herself bristle. “I… um. No. I’m too junior to be a partner. It wouldn’t be right.” She winced a little at the snap in her voice and was disappointed at how defensive she sounded. It wasn’t as if she hasn’t been asked this very question several times before, or answered it successfully just as many times. Why should she care so much what Ron thought anyway? “I’m the shop manager,” she finished, determinedly lightly, “It keeps me occupied.”

Ron paused for a moment, his expression still and blank and Hermione prepared herself for further questioning. At the very least she deserved to be held accountable for being a snarky cow. Instead, he said “It’s a really fancy shop for a little village isn’t it? When the owner of our shop told us it had been there for over a century I didn’t believe him. How do you turn a profit?”

She blew out a breath. “The Snitch does a lot of online trading and we get work through Wilhelm and Mark’s contacts. Having said that, it’s a very fine jeweller’s and the only one for miles around. All our competitors closed down years ago but The Snitch endures somehow. Wilhelm puts a lot of thought into the stock and the window dressing. Most of the work is shared but he likes to do the windows himself. It’s his happy little project each month.”

“Surely there must have been times over the years when you thought it might go under? The outlay must be massive.” Ron looked doubtful.

“Honestly, the books are healthy most of the time. And I should know, I pore over them enough. And actually, when they seem a bit lean, those tend to be the times that Wilhelm does something really over the top. Somehow it all works out. He has very good karma.”

"Did it take you a long time? To learn the trade I mean?"

Hermione considered this. "I've built it up over the years. And I have been very lucky that Wilhelm allows me to do so much, I mean, I work in the shop of course but there’s so much more to it. I taught myself to do the accounting and then I completed my certificate in appraisal so I do that too… I can do basic engraving… managing the website. Liaise with our buyers in France…”

“You speak French?”

“Yes. Initially just schoolgirl basics but I did a course when we changed our buying contract and I knew they were based in Les Fins. You have to do better than GCSE level when you’re talking to them.”

Ron shook his head. “You must spend a lot of time reading. In fact..” He reached over and plucked out the book that could just be seen in her tote. “’7000 Years of Jewellery’. Sounds riveting.”

He smirked as Hermione snatched the book from his hands. “Well it is. I like to read.”

“Surely you know everything there is to know about jewellery by now?” he replied, leaning back and turning his freckled face to the sun. In side profile he looked good, she decided. Long straight nose, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in the white of his throat, rosy mouth poised to curve into a smile. Not, perhaps, someone one would look at and immediately deem very good looking, not in the classic sense. But his face had character, life. Charisma.

“Don’t you?” He was staring at her now with that charismatic face as if she’s lost the plot and she struggled back to the question.

“Uh… no, not everything. Pieces still come in that surprise me. But I did History of Art at university so some of it isn't new." Ron didn't respond and she found herself babbling on, "What did you study at Uni?"

The tips of Ron's ears reddened and Hermione instantly knew she had said the wrong thing. As they sat there in silence, she felt the overpowering urge to grab the words back somehow.

"I didn't go to university," Ron eventually said quietly. He lifted a stone from between them, pressed his finger into the sharp edge and then launched it down onto the track. It skittered over the rails with a hollow clack. "The fees would have killed my mum and dad and I wasn't keen on taking out a student loan."

"Well loads of people don't go to university nowadays. It's fallen out of favour actually. So many people with degrees and no jobs. Like me for example. I couldn't get a job after Uni which was why I ended up full time in the Golden Snitch and I don't use my degree all that much and it was a bit of a waste of time really. Probably shouldn't have bothered either." A pause and then, "Sorry." It was Hermione's turn to blush.

He had watched her, eyebrows knitted into a frown as her words burbled out over each other and when she eventually ran out of breath he smiled. "Easy now, there's no need to apologise. Truth be told I was never that academic. I did okay at school but I wasn't really that interested. I could have got a student loan or worked or something to pay for Uni but I figured what was the point?"

Hermione exhaled sharply, overcome with the relief flooding her body. "Of course. It isn't for everybody." She pressed her lips together to stop more words coming out. She needed a lesson in shutting up.

Ron lifted the crisp packet, offering it to her and then taking a handful himself. "A couple of my brothers went. Bill is an actuary and Charlie is a vet so they both have degrees. Percy is a civil servant, high up so he likes to think he's well educated but he joined straight out of school so he didn't go. The twins wouldn't have gone if you'd have paid them and then my little sister Ginny was into sport. She plays regional rugby." He turned to Hermione and noted her mouth was a little agape. "What?"

"Gosh," she stuttered, "That's a.... large family."

Ron laughed and Hermione couldn’t help notice how gorgeous it made him; he looked effervescent. "Yep. There's a lot of Weasleys. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

Hermione shook her head, still trying to count up exactly how many Weasleys there were. "None. I'm an only child."

"Really? Just you?" She nodded. "Wow. That must have been..." He trailed off.

"Must have been what?"

He scrunched his face as if in thought. "I dunno. I'm trying to imagine it. Quiet, I suppose. Nobody stealing your stuff. No hand-me-downs. First dibs on everything. All your parents time. It must be nice, I think."

Hermione considered his answer and wondered how much Ron had had to do without in his life. Certainly the things he had talked about suggested a lack of material possessions and money. But no one could be as easy going and friendly and just plain nice as Ron if there had have been a lack of love. It was obvious he had been well loved.

"It was alright. I didn't know any better I suppose. But it was lonely too. No one to play with- I had a lot of imaginary friends growing up. I had no one to build a tree house with, play board games with. I spent a lot of time reading. I would have liked a sister."

Ron snorted. "You can have mine if you want. I think she would have preferred a sister; we didn't exactly go easy on her growing up. Mind you, it made her scrappy. You should see her on the pitch. Vicious doesn't cut it."

"Do you go and watch her play? As a family?"

"Oh yeah, you couldn't keep Mum away. So proud. Gin can't stand it, she tried to dissuade us but that just fuels the fire. George makes little banners to take and hold in the crowd. Mum and Dad wear all the merchandise. It's priceless." At the memory, Ron guffawed and Hermione thought about this happy family, going to see their little sister play. It sounded heavenly.

"Did you have a tree house?"

"Yep. My dad helped us build it. It's still standing, there's a massive oak tree at the bottom of my parents' garden. I'll show it to you sometime."

Their eyes met as he spoke and awkwardness hung itself between them as both realised what he had said. Hermione glanced away, trying not to read too much into this unintentional invitation and Ron narrowed the crisp packet, funnelling the crumbs into his mouth. When he righted his head, Hermione was already on her feet, studiously busy brushing dust from her trousers.

They walked back to the shop in relative silence, bare arms brushing occasionally and causing Hermione to start. When they reached the building Ron raised his hand in a salute and disappeared through his front door, leaving her squinting in the sun. She couldn't help feeling disappointed at his easy dismissal. It felt cold compared to the warmth of the rest of their time together. Did he really regret suggesting she visit his parents' house so much? Surely he knew she wasn't the kind of girl who leapt on every harmless slip of the tongue? Or had she offended him by biting his head off when he asked about the partnership? Or, God Almighty, by mentioning university? Yes, now she thought about it, there were quite a few things that could have been improved in that little encounter. The thought instantly blackened her mood.

Wilhelm was behind the counter with Mark when she entered the Snitch, heads together examining a set of drop diamond earrings.

"Our heroine returns, Mark," Wilhelm spoke without looking up, finely measuring the stones with a silver calliper.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "How was lunch?"

Hermione stretched her mouth into a smile, though she didn't feel it meet her eyes. "It was good."

"And is Mr. Weasley a contender do we think?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Wilhelm's bent head and pretended not to hear the question. "I'm going to do the receipts," she retorted in response and left the shop through the back door.

Wilhelm acknowledged her departure with a slight inclination of his head. "Definitely a contender, Mark."

"Do you think?"

"Oh yes. It was the Lysander engagement ring that did it. Rubies, Mark. If anything brings two people together, it's rubies."


	3. Chapter 3

**I’m going away for a few days so I’m posting early so I don’t forget. Thank you all so very much for your likes and kudos and favourites and comments, they are lovely to receive.**

**The scene at the end of the chapter was one of the first I wrote for this story. I loved the idea of it- the innocent romance of not being quite sure how you feel about someone. I hope you like it.**

**AUGUST/PERIDOT **

**Peridot, sometimes called chrysolite, is truly an extra-terrestrial gemstone; it can be found in space dust and meteorites. It can also be found around volcanoes, formed in the earth's mantle, forged from fire. Given its chemical instability, gem-quality stones are rather rare. Peridot is worn to alleviate sadness, anger and insomnia and was considered by ancient Egyptians to bring them closer to nature.**

The start of August brought two things with it: more blistering heat and the grand opening of Weasley’s Wonders. There was lots of commotion one Saturday morning; music, streamers, balloons handed out by a man on stilts. Fortunately the hot weather had brought holidaymakers with bored children, sticky and cramped from long car journeys, so it seemed to go well and a steady stream of visitors- both locals and tourists- bobbed past the window of the Golden Snitch on their way to the toyshop.

Hermione, for her part, still felt like she had mis-stepped somehow with Ron and stayed as far away from the Weasleys as was possible when you work in the building beneath. She arrived earlier and left later and generally kept out of the way. When Wilhelm decided that absolutely everything in the shop window looked dusty and needed thoroughly polished, she deconstructed the display with lightning efficiency and allowed Margot to put it back together as each piece was cleaned. When the awning repeatedly hung low on one side, she asked Mark to take a look each and every time, when infuriated her no end as quite clearly he wasn't fixing it.

There was, however, a job she knew she couldn’t avoid. In the first week of August every year, the decals on the window of the Golden Snitch were changed in preparation for the annual Celestial Show. Each year the Lysanders opened up the stately family home for the event. In two weeks’ time, there would be an all-night viewing; it brought the whole village together. Hermione looked forward it all year; everyone snuggled under cosy blankets, hot popcorn and coffee, families of kids getting their first glimpse of shooting stars.

As Wilhelm was a close friend of the Lysander family, he took it upon himself to ensure the shop adequately advertised the event and the job always fell to Hermione. Mark habitually took the first two weeks of August off and Margot claimed she developed vertigo at height. Which is how Hermione found herself up a ladder on Tuesday morning, directing Margot from outside as she positioned the decals, apparently unable to feel the effects of vertigo on a step ladder _inside_ the shop. Wilhelm was fussy, he noticed if one star sticker was 3 millimetres higher than another so Hermione always worked up close to the glass. Each decal was numbered and had to go on in a specific order, each sticker an exact distance from its neighbour. It was unfortunate that Wilhelm had insisted that today was the day to complete this task given that today the weather was slightly cooler and the wind was picking up.

Especially difficult was the shooting star bunting which had to be strung from one end of the awning to the other. The flimsy paper tangled each time it was hoisted in the wind and it was shedding glitter down one arm. Hermione eyed the hook under the awning with trepidation and slowly reached towards it. Margot stood inside the window, watching with vague interest and Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to tell her to sod off. Just as she came within an inch of the hook, the wind lifted. The bunting whipped up but she caught it with the other hand, firming her thighs and feet to keep her balance. Pleased with herself, she reached towards the hook again. As she looped the end of the bunting over it, the awning clattered and dropped, narrowly missing her head.

“Buggar! Mark! I will kill you!”

“Now here’s something you don’t see every day. Angry woman up ladder cursing.”

Head whipping round on her neck, Hermione looked down at Ron. A transient thought passed through her brain as she opened her mouth to respond: how long had he been there and how much up her shirt could he see from that position? The thought made her reply touchier. “And what may I ask are you doing down there? Watching a woman doing the work?”

“I had you pegged for an equality sort of girl Hermione. No jobs for the boys and all that. But of course, if you need my help,” he swooped low in a mock bow, “I’m happy to assist you.”

She scowled and turned back to the awning. “I don’t need your help. I’m sorting it.” Stomping back down the ladder, she swept past him and into the shop. When she returned she was carrying a long red metal toolbox, rusted from age. Ron watched, an amused half smile on his face. Staring at him pointedly for a moment, she then opened the box and, rifling in it, produced a bolt. She climbed back up the ladder and screwed it into place, sending a silent prayer to whoever was listening that this would fix it. She would be eternally grateful if she didn’t need to ask for Ron’s help. And eternally pissed at Mark for not fixing one of the eight times she had asked.

Pleased with her work she stepped down next to him and folded the toolbox back into itself.

“Well. Let it never be said that Hermione needs anyone for anything.” Ron was smirking and he also looked impressed, which gave her a rush.

“Yes well, I like to look after things myself. I wish I had’ve done it sooner. Bloody Mark.” She stood back and started eyeing the decals critically. “Do you think this star is higher than that one?” Without waiting for an answer she rapped the window with her knuckle and gestured at Margot who was nonchalantly buffing the brass. “Put this one up a bit. Not that much. Down. Down. Stop. Ok.”

“Dare I ask what all this is in aid of?”

“It’s the Celestial show in two weeks,” Hermione replied, shading her eyes as she examined the swoop of the bunting.

“Is this another of these weird village events? Everywhere I go in this village I see advertisements and posters for tea parties, movie marathons, knit your own dog toy events. You guys have a hectic social life.” Ron reached over and compressed the ladder legs together. “Where do you want it?”

Her fingers itched to take it from him but she resisted. “Through into the back.” As he followed her through the shop she said, “The village events aren’t weird. And it’s wonderful. The meteor shower of Perseids, have you heard of it?” He shook his head as he set the ladder against the wall in the office. “It’s beautiful. One of the clearest of the whole year. We go up to Lysander House to watch it. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Ron rubbed his eyes and yawned and she noticed the blueish smudge under each one.

“Late night?”

“Yep. And early morning. And zero sleep in between.” Facing him full on under the fluorescent office light, Hermione could see for the first time how tired he looked. His face was wan, almost grey and the blue eyes that always seemed so twinkly and mischievous looked dull. She felt a thread of concern snake through her.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

He shrugged and picked at a loose button on his shirt. “Dunno. Everything is ok really. I just find my mind racing when I get into bed. Like going over stuff over and over. Can’t seem to quieten it down.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Ron rubbed his eye again. “Oh I haven’t really slept well since we got here. It’s gotten worse over the last few days but we have a meeting with the stakeholders at the end of the week so I think that’s weighing on me. They want an update on how things are going with the shop.” He saw her frown and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’m sure once this meeting is over I will sleep like a baby.” He reached over and rubbed his thumb down the inside of her arm. The callus snagged the soft flesh. “You have one glittery princess arm. See you later.”

He ambled out of the shop, hem of his jeans trailing the ground under his trainers. Hermione watched him go, arm tingling where he had touched her. His complete disinterest in taking care of himself roused a strong desire in her to protect him, to take care of him herself. Her bossy, dominant determination to control everything was especially switched on when she was near Ron. He was so… laissez faire. It enraged and interested her in equal measure. She moved into the shop, lifting the glass spray and thought about this as she rubbed. He obviously cared about some things. He wasn’t sleeping. The business undoubtedly was important to him. The impression she got was that its success was the only thing that mattered.

Wilhelm burst through the door at alarming speed, box under each arm, bell jangling furiously. “Got them. Hermione! Margot! Let’s not waste time.”

Hermione knew what was in the boxes and was almost as excited as Wilhelm to open them. Draping fabric over the counter both she and Margot, who had disentangled herself from a magazine and cup of tea, leant in as Wilhelm snapped open the first, biggest box. The lavaliere necklace glimmered saucily in the light, the openwork scroll design curving back and forth on itself. Milky pearls were snuggled in gold flowers with four large, clear peridots dotted around. The pendant was the crowning glory- a single tear drop peridot, flawless and cut so it threw light in every direction. All three of them stood for a moment in silence, paying homage to the beauty of such a thing.

Slipping on gloves, Wilhelm ceremoniously removed the necklace and place the scrollwork on his palm, the teardrop gently dangling over the side of his hand. “Sublime isn’t it? 15ct gold. So rare nowadays to find one in such good condition. And the original box.” He raised his gaze to Hermione, pure happiness on his face. “Open the other one Hermione.”

Wordlessly, Hermione complied, revealing the matching earrings. The peridot drops were smaller but no less impressive. She lifted the box and left them hang away from the satin cushion. “Perfect. Not a single inclusion.”

“As if there was any doubt. Margot, bring the bust out please.” Setting the necklace carefully onto the mannequin, Wilhelm sighed. “Clarissa always promised that one day I could have this piece. It’s only taken forty years.” He mounted the earrings. “It was worth it.” His shrewd stare landed on Hermione again. “What do we know about peridot Hermione?”

He was always carrying out little spot checks to test her knowledge. “Well, it’s the birthstone for August, a variety of olivine. Found in Burma, Arizona and washed up on the beaches in Hawaii. Was known as the ‘Gem of the Sun’ by ancient people as it can be found in meteorites and volcanoes.”

“Recommended for?”

“Alleviation of asthma, breaking curses, depression. Thought to offer protection against thirst.”

Wilhelm raised a finger. “Good for insomniacs too.” _He always knows one more thing I’ve forgotten_, she thought, irked. Then the significance of what he had said dawned on her. On her lunchbreak the next day, Hermione found herself pushing her way through the heavy front door of Weasley’s Wonders. Instead of the light, jingly bell of The Snitch, they had installed a doorbell that sounded like a cartoon horn so she started as the door open and half fell into the shop.

Seeing it for herself, it was obvious how much effort the Weasley brothers had put in. The shop above The Golden Snitch had been various things over the years but had been left to ruin almost as long as Hermione had worked there. They had really taken on a challenge, yet somehow it looked as though it had always been a toyshop. There were nooks and crannies for dolls and stuffed animals to hide in, hooks in the ceiling for papier-mâché birds of paradise to swoop from. Everything buzzed with life- ticking, chirping, giggling, bouncing; it was a fantastic array of colour and movement.

She was so overwhelmed by taking it all in that she failed to notice George standing in the corner writing on something attached to a blue clipboard.

“Oh!” They suddenly made eye contact which brought her to a halt. “Hello George, I didn’t see you.” She hadn’t had many interactions with Ron’s brother, which made her feel a little shy.

“Come to buy a gift have we Hermione?” George stepped forward and lifted a neon green bucket, “Just got this in: DIY Slime! Kids love it, just don’t give to parents you want to stay friends with.”

“Um, no thanks George..”

“Are you sure?” he replied, dangling it higher, in front of her face, “You can pick your own scent?”

She laughed and gently pushed the bucket away. “Maybe another time. I’m actually looking for Ron.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And there was me thinking you had taste.” Hermione blinked but before she had time to respond, George hollered, “RON!”

They stood for a moment, George smiling knowingly before a door at the back of the shop, carefully camouflaged in jungle print, snapped open.

“What is it George? I’m in the middle of a call.” Ron’s brow, full of irritation, smoothed when he saw her. “Oh, hey Hermione. Everything ok?”

She stepped forward, suddenly feeling foolish. George hovered in the background, clipboard raised but no longer writing. “I was thinking about…. What you were saying yesterday.” She didn’t want to ‘out’ his sleeplessness to his brother in case he hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he wouldn’t want George knowing he was worried.

As if reading her mind, Ron turned to George. “Go and take over for a sec will you?” George rolled his eyes playfully to the ceiling but left without a word. When Ron turned back to her, his face was expectant. “What did I say yesterday?”

Hermione took a breath and another step closer to him. “About not being able to sleep. I was thinking about it and I brought you something that might help.” She pressed a small paper bag into his hand, the backs of her cool fingers briefly making contact with the warmth of his palm.

Ron’s face registered his surprise as he opened the bag with a crunch. Upending it into his hand, a keyring fell into his palm. Silver wire had been woven to create the shape of a tree, resplendent with tiny chips of peridot as a thick canopy of leaves. He stared at it for a moment before saying, “Err.. thanks.”

“It’s peridot. It’s meant to be good for relieving insomnia. Wilhelm mentioned it actually.” She could feel her cheeks burning. “Sorry, it was a stupid idea. I know you probably don’t believe in all that sort of thing. I don’t really either but Wilhelm has a lot of faith.”

There was a pause as Ron examined it, running the tip of his finger over the peridot leaves. As she stood there, Hermione once again wished the she could backtrack. Why was she so wrong footed when Ron was concerned? First asking about university, like it was a requisite, making him feel embarrassed and now giving him some woo-woo gift like his problems could all be sorted with some stupid keyring.

Eventually he looked up. “This is great. Thank you.” His grin seemed genuine but she was sure it couldn’t be; he was only humouring her.

“You don’t have to use it or anything. Honestly, it was a daft thought.” She started to back away towards the door, desperate for an exit.

“Steady on now,” Ron replied and matched her step for step until they reached the door. “Don’t just run off on me. It was a nice thought, I appreciate it. And honestly, right now I could do with it.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bunch of keys and clipped the tree to the ring. Shaking them in the air, he added, “See? Now I will always have it on me. Although if I fall asleep in the car, I will be blaming you in my insurance claim.”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. “I hope it helps. See you around.” She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck as she walked back down the stairs.

~

The night of the Celestial Show was exactly as hoped: clear and softly warm, as if the weather had pulled itself back together just in time. It hadn’t rained in the preceding days so the grass was bouncy and dry. Hermione had spent the evening with her family, huddling on blankets and drinking thick, strong coffee that arrived from the house kitchen in silver urns. A retro hot dog stand had been erected, alongside an old fashioned popcorn cart and silver metal storm lanterns of various sizes were dotted around the lawn which wrapped around three sides of the house. The fourth side was in darkness, a towering red brick wall housing private gardens.

Wilhelm had been in attendance, arm in arm with Clarissa Lysander. Lady Lysander had long been a widow however she and Wilhelm were keen to dispel any notion of impropriety; when Mark teased him about his frequent visits to Lysander House, Wilhelm would sniff that though he had the highest respect for Clarissa Lysander, her family’s jewel collection had always held more interest.

After her parents had made their apologies and headed home around one thirty in the morning, Hermione had sat with Mark for a while. They had talked and laughed until almost 3am, fuelled by coffee and the sheer delight of the Perseids but Mark eventually admitted defeat.

Hermione stayed on, not feeling remotely ready for bed, safe in the snug glow of the lanterns and surrounded by people she knew from the village. The Celestial Show had been her favourite village event since she was a little girl, the only time her parents had allowed her stay up until she fell asleep. Out by Lysander House there was no air pollution, the sky luminous and open. The meteors shot through the sky, incandescent and gorgeous. As she watched them, she felt a deep calm come over her.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Hermione felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards before she looked up at him. In the dim light he was an outline against the indigo sky, hands stuffed into pockets and she felt a rush of pleasure at his presence. Dropping to his knees next to her, his features came into focus. “I’ve been looking for you.” She didn’t say anything as he arranged his long legs in front of him and wrapped his arms around them. She almost felt afraid to, in case she broke the serenity bubble. Instead, she tilted her head back up and waited patiently for the next meteor. It was quiet now, the level of talking a low hum, occasional laughter, lanterns extinguishing as the candles died out. The scent of star jasmine and wisteria undulated from the Walled Garden, dusting everything lightly.

The abrupt sound of crinkling to her right disturbed Hermione’s reverie. “Haribo?” The bag thrust under her nose smelt like strawberries. “I got Starmix. Thought it was appropriate.”

She smiled and let her peace go, plucking a sweet from the bag. “Thank you. Are you enjoying the meteor show?”

Ron settled the bag in one hand, elbow resting lightly against her arm. “Yeah, it’s nice. Never been to something like this before.”

“They don’t have meteors in Ottery St Catchpole?” she teased.

“Hey! You remembered the name of my home town. You’ve been paying attention.” Hermione was glad he couldn’t see her face in the shadowy light as she felt her cheeks redden a little, glad too that he seemed to be unaware that he had never told her where he was from. She would have been mortified if he’d known they had been discussing the Weasleys in the shop. “Can’t say we ever did anything like this. Mind you, there’s no stately home in Ottery St Catchpole.”

“It’s not the stately home you need. It’s… Oh look!” Just at that moment, a meteor made its giddy way over the sky, a pinkish streak over navy blue.

“Wow, look at that,” Ron’s voice rumbled in genuine wonder. “Look at you, practically buzzing with excitement. You like stars huh?”

Hermione pressed her palms onto her knees to stop them from doing little jumps. “I do. This is my favourite time of year.” She reached across and took a plump red heart from the bag. “The weather is good, the Celestial Show is on, it’s my birthday next month…”

Ron cocked his head in interest. “Is it? And how do you celebrate your birthday?”

“Different things. Sometimes we go see a show, two years ago I went to see my friend in Barcelona. Last year me and Mum went to a spa for the weekend.”

“You girls love all that,” Ron replied, scrunching his nose.

“Not keen?”

“Nah, it’s not really me. I went with a girlfriend last year and she made us do this couples therapy thing where we had to lie side by side and get a massage. She thought it was really romantic but to be honest I found it kinda embarrassing lying there half naked with everyone else in the room.”

Hermione’s thought processes immediately honed in on the mention of the word ‘girlfriend’ and scattered in several directions at once, like marbles dropped on the floor. The first, most obvious thought: is this a current girlfriend? On one hand, he said ‘a girlfriend’ not ‘my girlfriend’ which would imply past tense. On the other hand, why did he even mention it if it wasn’t important? And if he didn’t think it was important, did that mean that he didn’t think she would care? Or did he say it deliberately because he wanted her to care? Aware that she had been silent a fraction too long, she aimed to keep her response light.

“You were embarrassed being naked in front of your girlfriend? That doesn’t sound like much fun.” Oh. My. God. What had she said that for? _Good grief Hermione, catch a grip!_

There was a slight lapse in the dark before Ron laughed. “It wasn’t my girlfriend I didn’t want to be naked in front of. It was the other two women in the room. I’m a bit shy when it comes to exposing myself to strangers you know? Which I always think is probably a good thing. No flashing tendencies.”

Their shared laughter was interspersed with oohing as another meteor hurtled through the night. Ron leant back onto his elbows and straightened his legs out. Emboldened by his ease, Hermione followed suit, sneaking looks at his face from the corner of her eye. When he yawned abruptly she said softly, “Shouldn’t you be at home trying to sleep? It’s really late. Or really early, I suppose.”

In response, he fished into his jeans pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys. She could just make out the little peridot tree against the lightness of his palm.

“Kept it see?”

Hermione was touched. “And? Did it work?”

Ron pulled a face. “Hate to break it to you but I think they sold you a dodgy one.”

“I thought you said you could relax when the stakeholder meeting was over. Wasn’t that what was keeping you awake?” She watched his face in the dim light, staring straight ahead at the old house looming at the end of the lawn and wondered if he would be honest with her about what was troubling him.

“Yeah,” he started, plucking a handful of grass and then letting the blades fall from his upturned hand, “Lots of things keep me awake.”

“Like what?”

“Weeeelllll, just general stuff with the business mainly. Are we where we should be? Is it going to pan out? Are we making the right decisions? Plus we’re in the country now so there’s loads of weird noises you don’t get in the city. This place has a serious owl population, have you noticed?” She shook her head. “Well I have. They keep very unsociable hours, raving about in the dead of night.”

“Do you talk to your brother? About these things?” She lay back fully on the grass and turned her face towards him.

“It’s hard to talk to George. It’s… complicated with him.” Ron plucked again at the grass and Hermione sensed that now wasn’t the time to press for details. She has resigned herself to saying nothing more when he spoke again. “My brother Fred died a while ago. He was George’s twin. The business was their dream, their big joint venture and it was only in the very early stages when he was killed. George carried on for a while by himself but it was obvious he needed someone to help him so I agreed to become his partner. It’s fine, I mean we work well as a team but sometimes it feels like filling a dead man’s shoes you know? Like George is just really sad I’m not Fred.”

Hermione was suddenly lost for words, a wave of grief for Ron spreading over her. She opened her mouth and then closed it again when she realised she didn’t know what to say.

“So that keeps me awake a bit,” Ron carried on, “But mainly it’s the bloody owls.” His tone lightened at the end of the sentence, like he was trying very hard not to dampen the mood.

“I’m sorry about your brother. About Fred.” She literally couldn’t think of anything to say, which was infuriating as normally she couldn’t stop herself from spewing words out when she was around him.

He looked down at her, the side of his face faintly golden in the soft light of the lanterns. “Thanks. It was quite nice to say that out loud. I didn’t really know that I felt like that until I said it. Is it comfy down there?” He lay back onto the rug. “This is nice, very soft. You clearly use fabric conditioner.”

“It’s alpaca,” Hermione replied, distracted by the length of his arm now making contact with the length of hers. She wanted to fidget and pull away and yet she really didn’t. Above them the night sky crackled with its own magic as the hairs on her arms stood on end. She found herself wondering about his relationship status again; he didn’t seem like the kind of person to cheat on his girlfriend. Though technically they were just two people lying on a rug together, they weren’t exactly all over each other. A second later, she felt Ron twitch and the back of his hand came to rest against hers. It was the slightest connection but it felt electric, sending her nerve endings haywire. Hermione stared resolutely straight up, pretending to be fascinated by the quiet night, waiting for him to move his hand. Nothing happened.

Was this significant? Ron didn’t speak, didn’t move and she longed to turn towards him, make eye contact and see what happened. Something stopped her, fear most likely. She’d had her share of disappointments in love, she had a habit of dating men who she thought were suitable, rather than trusting her gut instinct, and it hadn’t served her well. As she fixated on the clear, starry vastness above her, Hermione’s mind flicked back over her choices and it came back wanting.

From her first boyfriend when she was fifteen to her most recent just last year, they all seemed to have a common denominator: great on paper, not so great in real life. They weren’t bad guys, they just hadn’t been a good fit, despite it seeming that way on the surface. In each relationship, other’s people opinions had rung in Hermione’s ears. _‘Oh you guys are a perfect match’. ‘When Peter said you were single, I just knew who to set you up with’. ‘Surely you can sort this out, you two are so compatible in other ways!’_

Hermione knew she selected partners from the outside in. She concentrated on what made them seem outwardly perfect and was surprised later on to find out they were not who she thought they were. Maybe that was the problem. She spent too much time thinking and not enough time feeling.

When she had met Ron, the thinking part of her didn’t even register him. He was nothing like her ‘type’; where did he fit amongst the stockbroker, the architect, the consultant ophthalmologist? He didn’t, really. But the feeling part of her… that was a different matter. Her feelings had lit up like a neon sign pretty early on. _Let’s be truthful Granger, from the first time you sassed him in the shop and he made that crack about being on top. _This funny, warm man was exactly what the feeling part of her responded to, so why was she so scared?

Annoyed, she sat up and gazed over at the house. Typically her mind was running away with her; Ron hadn’t given her any indication he liked her that way. Of course, they had gone on that mini date to the railway track but she had messed that up by making it sound like she thought he was poor and uneducated. There was the peridot keyring, he kept that. And then there was tonight. Stargazing was romantic wasn’t it? He had been looking for her hadn’t he? But he had told her about his brother dying and she hadn’t said very much. Should she have said more? And now he wasn’t even speaking to her.

Feeling frustration building, Hermione glanced back at Ron and instantly felt it melt. In the cooling dark, he was asleep. In minute little movements, she turned onto her hip and lowered herself to the grass. Ron’s hand lay lightly on his stomach, his other arm by his side. Slow, rhythmic breaths, chest rising and falling. Up close she could hear the soft whoosh of air through his lips. Delicately she laid her head next to him and could just make out his fair eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, one lock of hair shading his eye. His normally animated face was serene in sleep and for a crazy moment she felt the urge to press her mouth to his. She imagined he would taste like gummy sweets, that he would be supple and warm under her, that his hair would ruffle under her fingers and his big hands would hold her upper body tight against his.

The sweetness of his expression stopped her, however and instead she rolled onto her back and laid her arm back down next to his, backs of their hands touching once more. Above them, a shooting star arced and Hermione made a wish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Good Sunday vibes once more! Again lovely to see people reading and enjoying the story. I love these two as a pair- I find them endlessly pleasurable to write about. Anyway, it’s September, Hermione is about to turn thirty and she just can’t forget about this boy she’s met. But how does he feel?**

**SEPTEMBER/SAPPHIRE**

**Sapphires belong to the corundum family and are considered sapphires in every colour other than red, in which case they are rubies. Sapphires have long been connected to the planet Venus and the bringing together of lovers. They were thought to provide an antidote to poison and to cure certain medical ailments. A sapphire's asterism displays three crossbars; early Christians believed these symbolised faith, hope and love.**

The first few days of September, Hermione was on a high. She buzzed around the shop, adjusting the displays, laughing loudly with the customers, doing all the unpleasant jobs that everyone avoided without so much as a murmur. She even sat with Margot one teatime and listened to her wax lyrical about poodle breeding. She didn’t allow herself to think about why she might be feeling so cheerful, she simply revelled in it.

Wilhelm had decided to dedicate the month of September to sapphires and wanted the shop decked out. He had ordered blue Lucite stands for the counter displays, sparkling hangings for the shop interior. The window display, however, was a complete surprise. He and Mark had been working on the design for weeks and had refused to show Hermione even the rough sketches.

"It's your birthstone. It will be a surprise," was all that Wilhelm would say. Mark just shrugged and said he had been sworn to secrecy. It was all very puzzling. Wilhelm had always acknowledged each of their birthstones in some small way but he had never taken it this far.

So by the time Hermione had arrived for work on the first of September, Ron had been temporarily forgotten. The shop window had been wrapped from the inside in iridescent blue paper and when Wilhelm pulled it aside with a flourish, she was overcome.

He had outdone himself. Mark had built a structure from sandy stone to represent the Madagascan mines and from its depths spilled hundreds of large blue cut glass rocks. They cascaded over the floor of the shop window, a vibrant, abundant blue river gushing ‘gemstones’. Everywhere you looked cerulean twinkled and cobalt sparkled. It was breath-taking, easily the best window they had ever created.

There was a lot of activity in the shop over the next few days; it seemed the entire village wanted to view the new display. There wasn’t time to really think about Ron, although somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why he hadn't popped in.

By the end of the second week in September, however, her mood was starting to darken. She hadn’t seen Ron since the night of the Celestial Show which had been almost three weeks previously. When he had eventually woken up that night he had driven her home, promising he would see her soon. She had been walking around on air ever since. In her sane mind, Hermione knew she had no right to make demands on his time; he was a busy man and they were just... Were they friends? More like friendly neighbours maybe.

Her sane mind didn't stop her hopeful heart anticipating when she would see him next, though and she became increasingly disappointed when a day went by without his presence.

"No Mr. Weasley today Hermione?" Wilhelm had taken to asking as they boxed up the display items at the end of the day and she would always answer 'I wasn't expecting him'. Which wasn't an outright lie. She had no reason to expect him, but tell that to her kitten heart.

It didn't help that Sapphire Month had upped business and everyone seemed to be in love. Engagement rings, anniversary presents, a watch with a sapphire bezel for a husband's seventieth birthday; people wanted it and Hermione sold it.

"Nothing like sapphires for romance, Hermione," Wilhelm intoned for what seemed like the hundredth time. "It's the stone for lovers." How wrong he was.

The morning of her birthday dawned cool and bright. As she walked to work, Hermione kicked through the early fallen leaves. Usually Autumn made her feel cosy; she looked forward to woollen tights, open fires, sparklers and pumpkins. But today, it seemed like the world was dying, the turn of the trees from bright, hopeful green to russet and gold felt depressing.

Tonight she would sit down with her family and friends at the local Italian restaurant and celebrate her thirtieth birthday. She had considered doing something else, something bigger and splashier but she found she preferred the thought of dinner, of all her loved ones around her.

When she arrived at the Golden Snitch, there were cards and cake and the promise of presents later. They had recently taken delivery of some new pieces that needed catalogued and photographed so the day went quickly. At four o'clock Wilhelm sent her home where she indulged herself in an oily bath and hair mask.

At six Suzy came by and helped her tame her unruly curls so they fell in glossy spirals down her back. It wouldn't last but a bit of Cinderella magic was allowed on your birthday. They got dressed, toasting each other enthusiastically with prosecco. Hermione had told Suzy a little bit about her erstwhile neighbour but had been reluctant to share how much she seemed to think about him. She felt daft, entertaining romantic daydreams about someone she barely knew.

Two long trestle tables were filled with her nearest and dearest when she arrived at the restaurant with Suzy and it took her a full ten minutes to make her way round everyone. Wilhelm took her to one side and presented her with a Victorian brooch in the shape of a bee, its body constructed from moonstone, its wings dotted with blue sapphires. He had been holding onto it for a long time, he told her, he wanted her to have it when she turned thirty. The token was so thoughtful Hermione had to hold back tears. She hugged Wilhelm long and hard until he pulled away embarrassed.

The dinner, conversation and laughing were so wonderful that Hermione's heart lifted right from the start and she found she could barely remember why she had been so low. How stupid to get so wound up about Ron. Clearly she was feeling starved of male affection- it had been months since she'd been on a real date- and she was obviously latching on to the first good looking man who paid her any attention.

So when Suzy suggested that they decamp to the local bar, promising a poky dancefloor and live music, she was eager to agree. They waved goodbye to the ‘grownups’ and headed over the green. Hermione had been coming to The Saw since she was a little girl; first with her family for Sunday lunch, then as a teenager with a fake ID that fooled no-one. The band that played every Saturday night were enthusiastic, the dancefloor crowded and the drinks cheap. She had spent her Uni days in places far more sophisticated than this but somehow The Saw felt right.

Mark bought the first round of drinks and huddled the glasses together on one round table. Some of her friends had already made their way through the crowd to the space in front of the band where people were dancing. As she reapplied her lipstick, he cupped his hand around his mouth next to her ear. "I'm not sure that dress is suitable for The Saw. You're going to give Dr Foley a heart attack."

Hermione had thought long and hard about wearing the dress Suzy had lent her. Being taller, the sleeveless shift finished mid-thigh as opposed to knee length on her friend. It looked... sexier on her because her limbs and torso were longer, not to mention the fact that it was bright silver. There was nowhere to hide in this dress; not something she would normally wear on a night out but Suzy had persuaded her. If she couldn't look fabulous on her birthday when could she? The dinner plate-sized birthday badge perhaps slightly spoiled the look.

Pulled onto the dancefloor, she danced and giggled with her girlfriends, encouraged by the watchful gaze of group of men by the bar who were receiving a lot of female attention. Probably because they appeared to be from Ireland so there was no chance of knowing and/or being related to them. One in particular persistently caught her eye and she threw all her best flirty glances in his direction as she shimmied.

Egged on by Suzy and Hannah, she was on the verge of going over when she saw a copper head in the crowd. Ron was standing next to the table with Mark, watching her. Her stomach jerked excitedly and she hoped that at least some of the dancing she had been doing would be considered attractive. It was hard to tell in the happy warmth of the alcohol. Emboldened by the vast amounts of prosecco she had consumed, Hermione bounced over to where he stood, all thoughts of the Irish charmer suddenly evaporated.

"Hello neighbour!"

Ron grinned and then grimaced. "I'm sorry I'm late. Mr. Vossler told me it was your birthday and he invited me and George to dinner. But my flight was delayed and I only just got back. I'm sorry I missed it."

As if on cue, George appeared behind his brother with a pint in both hands. "Well Hermione!" he hollered, "That's almost a full dress! You should wear stuff like that to work. That would sell a few baubles." He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her forcefully on the cheek.

Ron rolled his eyes and accepted the beer as George spotted someone he knew and disappeared into the crush. "Don't listen to him. You look lovely. Happy birthday." By contrast, Ron's kiss was softer, his lips caressing her skin so lightly she barely sensed it. He smelt clean in all the heat, like oranges and limes and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Thank you," she managed to choke out, "I'm sorry, I didn't know Wilhelm had invited you or we would have waited at the restaurant."

"S'no problem. It wasn't hard to find you, this being the loudest place in the village. I think the invitation was sort of last minute, I mean he only mentioned it the day I was flying out." Ron wrinkled his nose. "And I'm kinda glad we missed it. I didn't realise he hadn't asked you first. You would have been wondering why the hell the two of us were at your birthday party."

"Oh no! I mean.... you were very welcome. Are very welcome. I mean... thank you for coming.” She fanned her face ineffectually with her hand. “It's really hot in here."

"Do you want to go outside and get some air?" Ron gestured at the door and Hermione realised with a zing of pleasure that yes, that was exactly what she wanted.

The night was chillier than that of the Celestial show but she appreciated it on her clammy skin. Tottering on the cobbles in her heels, Hermione led Ron to a bench situated to one side of the Saw.

As they sat she said, "We used to come here when we were too young to be served in the bar. Sitting outside with our Cokes made us feel grown up."

"You have a real connection to this place don't you?"

"I'm nostalgic about it I suppose. And yes, I feel connected to it. I've lived here my whole life. Don't you feel that way about Ottery St Catchpole?"

Ron shook his head instantly. "I always wanted to leave. Don't get me wrong, my family are great and I like going home and seeing them. Sometimes I miss the action and I drop in just to hear it. But I always wanted to get out and live a bit. It was crowded at home, all of us living under one roof. I wanted the space."

"And you got it?"

"Yep. I had a flat in Edinburgh. And now we're here!" His voice sounded strangled but before she could comment, he spoke again, "Anyway, did you get anything nice for your birthday?"

Giddy with booze, Hermione started to list her gifts, finishing with the bee brooch from Wilhelm.

"Sounds like you did well. You'd hardly need another present then?"

There was a pause as she realised what he had said. Without speaking, Ron pulled a red square box from inside his jacket and set it next to her on the bench. They both looked down at it for a moment, Hermione feeling excitement welling up like Champagne bubbles, before she lifted it and removed the lid.

Inside, nestled on white tissue paper, was a fine golden bracelet. As she removed it from the box, she noticed two little charms- a moon and a star. Holding them up to the light, Hermione recognised the intense blue streaked with gold, colour so vital it glowed even in the dim light.

"Lapis lazuli! How wonderful!"

Ron ducked his head shyly. "I know it's a bit daft buying someone who works with jewellery all day a bracelet but I saw it and I thought of you." He stalled. "Of you at the Celestial show, I mean. Plus it's the birthstone of September."

"No it isn't!" The words were out before she had a chance to consider whether or not he might be hurt. "I mean, it doesn’t matter or anything. The birthstone of September is sapphire. But I love it."

"Well that's where you're wrong Miss Know-It-All." She frowned. "Well, you're not wrong. But I'm not wrong either. Lapis lazuli is an ancient birthstone for September, it's only in relatively recent times that sapphire took over."

Hermione felt her mouth gape slightly. "Is that true?"

"Yep. Impressed?" Ron leant his elbows on his knees and looked back at her. Even in the dark his smiling face was handsome. "Have I rendered the great Miss Smarty-pants speechless?"

Hermione furiously tried to remember what she knew about lapis lazuli but found the effects of the alcohol were making her fact recollection fuzzy. So she settled for replying, "Do you know Mr. Weasley, you have. I will admit it. I'm impressed."

"Do you want to know what else I learned?" Gingerly he reached for the bracelet and indicated her wrist. She turned her palm upwards and offered her arm to him. "In the Renaissance period, it was ground down to make the blue for the sky and sea in paintings. Michelangelo used it for the Sistine Chapel." He looped the bracelet round her wrist and pulled at the clasp with his thumbnail. "Thought by ancient people to cure a variety of ailments such as brittle bones and boils. The Romans considered it an aphrodisiac."- small raise of the eyebrow there- "But mostly it is considered to be a deeply spiritual stone, bringing man closer to the stars and heaven. Celestial, if you will."

He fiddled some more with the clasp and she leant back, trying to give him the best of the light. "That is some serious gemstone knowledge Ron. Did you research it all by yourself?"

She heard him chuckle, felt it vibrating from his arm to hers. "I might have had a little help." Hermione thought about Wilhelm and all his talk about lovers. "Bloody hell, this clip thing!"

"Let me help." She ducked closer to him. "Lobster clasps can be tricky." She could feel his breath on her cheek, the sweetness of beer mixed with toothpaste. The craving to turn towards him was strong; they were so close now that the slightest inclination of her head would connect them. She fumbled with the bracelet, trying to buy herself more time to think, to decide.

Suddenly, she was aware that Ron had stopped breathing. She could feel her compulsion strengthening. Did she dare and what would he do if she did? The decision however, was taken out of her hands. With a flick of her nail she hooked the ends together and she heard Ron started to breathe again. Hermione could sense that the moment had somehow broken so she sat back before she turned towards him, ensuring a respectable distance.

Ron's face was blank and unreadable. She could feel the heat of his hand encircling her wrist and he didn't let go as she met his eyes. His lips parted ever so slightly and she felt hers do the same. His gaze dropped to her mouth. _If ever there was the moment, Hermione. This would be it._

Then, as if hit by some sort of realisation, Ron blinked and clamped his teeth together, eyes reverting to hers, taking a deep inhale through his nose. "I'd better head home." Hermione wasn't sure she had heard correctly until he spoke again, voice quiet and thick. "I'm knackered from the travelling and you are missing your party."

And then he did something she wasn't expecting. By her wrist, he raised her hand to his face and kissed her palm, lips lingering for just a moment. Laying her hand back into her lap, he stood up and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Happy birthday Hermione."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sunday again. Once more, thank you for all your kindness regarding this story. You are consistently supportive and it is very much appreciated. **

**Anyway it’s October in Twain and the opals are having a mischievous moment of their own. It suddenly occurred to me this morning how like the Horcrux this is. You’ll see what I mean but it wasn’t intentional! Hope you enjoy.**

**OCTOBER/OPAL**

**Opals have an unfortunate and undeserving reputation for being unlucky, thought to be the result of the publication of a book wherein an enchanted princess, Lady Hermione, meets her doom wearing an opal hairclip. For many years wearing an opal was considered unwise if it was not your birthstone. For those not affected by this superstition, opal was thought to cure eye diseases and even render the wearer invisible.**

Autumn was Wilhelm's favourite season and he loved nothing more than decorating his little shop in rich colours and fine jewellery. Huge cocktail rings and chunky gem-studded cuffs fought for window space with fuzzy miniature pumpkins, black cats hanging from the ceiling on long, loopy tails and heart shapes made from conkers. Margot made a wreath for the door, dripping in gold and ruby leaves, pine cones and gourds. In the autumnal months, Wilhelm liked to feature all relevant gemstones such as citrine, topaz and tourmaline.

He also featured opal although it didn't sit easily with him. "Opals," he whispered, as he laid a pair of raw opal bracelets into the counter display, "You have to be so careful. Treat them well, treat them with respect."

Mark was helping Hermione hang an elongated cat. "Opals baaaaaaad!" He grinned up at Hermione on the kick step who swatted him.

"Not bad Mark. Just..... pernickety. Easily angered. Especially unlucky for our fair maiden here."

Mark wagged his finger up at her. "No opals for you Hermione Granger. Sapphires yes, opals NOOOOOOO!" He sniggered as he helped her off the kick step. "Do you want to do the rest?"

"No, I'm going to do the books," she replied, wishing he hadn't mentioned sapphires. Sapphires made her think of September, of their beautiful window display and of her almost kiss with Ron.

Moving into the back office she lifted the receipts and the ledger, snagged herself a coffee, making it extra frothy, and pushed open the back door. Behind the building was a small yard, closed it at all sides by red brick. Margot had planted a few hanging baskets and terracotta pots to 'improve my view' and Hermione had to agree it made it much more pleasant to sit outside.

The last of the flowers were hanging on in the mild weather but even now she could feel ice in the air. It wouldn't be long before everything had shut down, preparing for a long cold winter. As she made neat stacks of the receipts, her thoughts cast themselves back to her jewellery box on the dresser at home where she had stored the bracelet Ron had bought her.

After he had abruptly left her that night she hadn't been able to face wearing it. At first she had been hurt, a feeling which quickly moved to confusion. After that the only place to go seemed to be resignation. She had clearly misread the signs. Yes he had given her all the right cues: thoughtful present, deep, long look into her eyes, prolonged physical contact. And then there was that kiss, not on the mouth as she had anticipated but on her hand, her open palm. If anything it had felt more intimate than what she had been expecting.

But even then, she had to be wrong. If he had've wanted to kiss her he would have. It was that simple. She had seen Ron a few times since her birthday and he had behaved perfectly. A little too perfectly really, there was little of the friendly banter she had become used to. They had lost their ease. Hermione took this as further evidence that she had somehow interpreted his affectionate nature for more.

The ledgers took most of the afternoon and at around three Wilhelm pushed the door open and set the tea tray on the wrought iron table next to her. Silently he set cups into saucers and swirled the teapot, only pouring when he was satisfied. Straining the tea leaves from the brew, he delicately set the little sieve to one side and then lifted his cup, waiting until Hermione had stopped writing and lifted hers before he took a sip. They sat side by side in the quiet for quite some time before Wilhelm spoke.

"It's chilly out here Hermione. Won't you come inside?"

"I'm almost finished. I like the fresh air. It helps me concentrate."

"Ah yes," he nodded sagely, "Concentration has been difficult lately."

She frowned; knew, in a way, what was coming. "What do you mean?"

Wilhelm smiled. It was a kind smile but Hermione felt herself bristling. "You have been working on two planes Hermione. Your body is here with us but your mind is somewhere else."

She took a gulp of tea, almost enjoying the scald in her throat. "I don't know what you mean Wilhelm. I'm right here. Doing my job."

He placed his hand over hers and she felt her heckles drop. He had always had her best interests at heart, he was like a second father to her. "Of course you are. My only concern is how tiring it must be. Thinking about something else." She didn't reply. "If he's a real contender, it will work out. Have faith."

"I don't think he's a contender Wilhelm. I don't think he ever was."

Wilhelm drained his cup and stood up. "Then what a fool he is." He left her alone in the yard, tea growing cold.

A week later, the Golden Snitch received a delivery of tourmaline, a special commission from a buyer in Switzerland. Wilhelm and Mark meticulously examined and valued each piece and Hermione and Margot photographed and catalogued it. Once the work was completed, the order was packaged and shipped.

Hauling the excess packaging out to the recycling dumpster, Hermione brushed her hair back from her face. The colder it got the more fractious her hair seemed to be, becoming brittle and flyaway. It felt like she spent half the year scraping it out of her eyes.

"Need a hand?" Ron appeared at her shoulder, crisply dressed in suit and tie.

She eyed his attire and shook her head. "Not in those clothes. But thanks." She carried on flattening the cardboard, hoping he would take the hint and go away; she had run out of polite things to say to him. Still, she could sense his presence behind her. _Ignore it._

"It's starting to get cold isn't it? I think I heard someone say there was a frost on the way."

_Oh for God's sake. _"Yes, uh it's quite cold. The flowers won't last for long." She stamped extra hard on the box on the ground as if this would somehow express to him her frustration at his mindless small talk.

"I hear there's another one of those weird village events next week."

Clearly he wasn't going to give up. Hermione stopped pulling at the cardboard in her hand and turned towards him. "The Spooktacular, yes. The kids go out trick or treating and then there's food and little stalls on the green. It's for families really. The adults tend to let their hair down on Bonfire Night."

He looked awkward standing there in his smart clothes. The suit fitted him well but he seemed uncomfortable in it, liked it itched or restrained him. The tie was already slightly pulled from the collar.

“What’s with the suit? Big meeting?”

“Er, yeah. The stakeholders like regular updates on their investments so I try to look like someone they can trust with large amount of money when I go see them.”

Hermione slammed the lid of the dumpster down. “And? Were they convinced?”

Ron grimaced and shifted his weight between feet. “Let’s hope so.” There was an excruciating pause. "So you'll be sitting that one out will you? The Halloween thing?"

"Erm, yes. I don't tend to go to the Spooktacular."

Abruptly a ringtone drilled and Ron pulled his phone from his inside pocket. Glancing at it he groaned. "I gotta take this. See you soon?"

Hermione watched him walk away and wondered why she had lied to him about the Spooktacular. Every year she manned the apple dunking stall with her dad- it had been Granger tradition since before she was born. They dressed up, her mum made them a Thermos of soup to keep warm and they ate burgers from the stall next door. It was quality time with her dad that she didn't get very often. So why lie?

It was a question she was still pondering the following week as they filled the large burnt wood barrel with a hose from the pub. "I got smaller apples this year," her father was saying as the water sloshed in, "The kids don't seem to have the jaws for the Granny Smiths. Braeburns are better I think." She watched him fondly, fussing with the apples, ensuring there were no worm holes or bruises. If anyone was going to host the only stall that encouraged healthy eating, it was the village dentist.

Her father was decked out in his usual pirate costume, the stuffed parrot they had been using for years drooping unsteadily on his shoulder. Hermione had dusted off her witch's outfit and applied a thick layer of green face makeup. With the hooked, warty false nose in place the kids would struggle to recognise her.

Her mother brought them polystyrene cups of tea as they waited for the trick or treating mass to arrive at the green. When the kids began to trickle down the street her mother waved her goodbyes and her father transformed into pirate mode. While Hermione was unrecognisable, her dad gave himself away quickly. As each child streaked past, high on sugar, he dropped toothpaste samples into their swag buckets.

Soon the ground around the barrel was wet and boggy as children and adults alike kneeled with their hands behind their back and bobbed for apples. Hermione sat and watched her father cheering them on, wrapping her chilled hand around a cup of soup. As she was contemplating the success of the smaller apples, she noticed something glinting in the grass next to her feet. Her mother's necklace, she thought plucking it up, a gift for her birthday at the start of the month: a small round iridescent opal surrounded by a gold heart on a fine gold chain. Wilhelm had only agreed to sell it to her because it was her mother's birthstone. Where opals and Hermione were concerned, he had grave misgivings. Examination revealed the clasp had slipped from the chain. Wilhelm would be furious with the shoddiness of the workmanship and, as she slid it into her jeans pocket under her cloak, Hermione promised herself she would find a way to repair it without upsetting him.

As she stood to stretch her legs, she noticed a familiar face. George was walking around the stalls, an arm slung casually round the shoulders of a pretty girl with tight curly black hair, presumably Angelina, the girlfriend from home. Angelina held the hand of a small boy of four or five dressed as some sort of goblin. As they approached the barrel, Hermione's dad 'Arhhh'd at them with gusto, making the little boy laugh.

As Angelina knelt to help him dunk, George caught her eye.

"Hermione?"

"And there I was thinking this was a good costume. You were on to me straight away!"

George shook his head. "It's a great costume. Wow, I love the nose. Where did you get it?"

"Looking for new ideas are you? Sorry to disappoint you, I have had this for years."

"It's great. I'm always looking for new ideas. We got fairly good Halloween stock this year but I think there’s room for improvement. The Snitch looked amazing. Wilhelm really goes all out doesn’t he?”

Hermione felt herself smile. “Yes he loves special occasions. Any excuse to decorate!” At that moment the miniature goblin spotted something on the other side of the green and took off at breakneck speed, Angelina trailing behind.

“Angelina’s nephew A.J,” George gestured after them, “He’s spending the weekend with us_. Loved_ the trick or treating. He doesn’t get to do it in London, it’s not a very safe area where they live. So much safer down here isn’t it?”

“Twain is a safe village, yes. Probably because we all know each other well. You like it here then? You think you’ll stay?”

George nodded vigorously. “I think this place is great. We were looking for premises for a long time before we found our building and nowhere else came close in the end. Ron was pushing to set up closer to London- that had been the plan initially- but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of somewhere like Twain. Somewhere completely different where we could build something new from scratch.” As he spoke Hermione recalled Ron telling her about the death of George’s twin and wondered how much that had affected George’s decision to relocate. There were no bad memories in Twain. “Yeah, I hope I’ll be here for a long time.”

She bit her tongue, summoning all her self-control not to say _‘And what about your little brother?’_

As George wandered away to look for his girlfriend, Hermione congratulated herself on her restraint. In fact she was so busy congratulating herself, that she almost failed to notice another face she knew. Ron was insulated from the cold in a short wool coat, hands invariably in pockets. He was standing in front of the pub across the green, his red hair flaming in the backlight. Hermione told herself she wasn't pleased to see him and she would have almost believed it if her stomach hadn't been doing those crazy little flips. With a flash of pleasure she remembered he had asked her specifically if she would be here tonight. He had taken a chance that she would change her mind perhaps.

She cursed herself for wearing the fake nose. It wasn't exactly the right look for attracting men. Would she have time to remove the makeup....? Her train of thought was interrupted as a second figure joined Ron's. Shorter, curvier with long blonde hair. Definitely female. Something icy curled in Hermione's stomach, exactly in the place where just a few moments earlier there had been flips.

Barely aware of the activity at the barrel, her father's encouraging clapping fading into background noise, she watched the two forms as they chatted and laughed, drinks in hand. Hermione didn't recognise the blonde, she wasn't someone from the village, which meant she had either come from a neighbouring village for the event or worse, Ron had brought her here.

Hermione felt an overpowering urge to get a better look. Telling her dad she would be right back, she moved diagonally, in their general direction but not directly. She pretended to pause at stalls, lifting items and setting them back without examining them. Ironically, the fake nose and green makeup she was cursing just minutes earlier allowed her anonymity. She was invisible, just another witch in the crowd.

She stopped next to the face painting stand, a mere twenty feet from the pub. Cassandra was brushing white paint onto a skeleton's face. "Hey, Hermione. You come to lend a hand? I was thinking of shutting up shop soon though."

"Ummm, sure. Shall I bag up your float?" Without waiting for confirmation, she lifted a handful of coins and began counting them absently into little plastic bags. The warm light from the pub windows made everyone standing out front glow. Ron's companion's hair shone like the golden fleece as she giggled, tossing it back and forth. As she watched, George and Angelina joined them, the little goblin now drowsy in George's arms. This definitely wasn't someone from another village, a random girl. They all conversed together easily, the blonde pulling Angelina in for a close hug at one point.

As the coins clattered into the bags, Hermione knew she should feel grateful this had happened. All this time she has harboured _something_ for this man, thought she had recognised a spark in him too. Now, finally, she had the proof that she had wildly overestimated the situation. It was ridiculous when you thought about it logically- allowing yourself to be swept away on the sum total of a sandwich by the train tracks and a bracelet, probably foisted on Ron by Wilhelm, too eager in his matchmaking.

"You are a million miles away lovely," Cassandra said from somewhere behind her.

Breaking focus on Ron, she glanced back. "Sorry Cass. Here's the float."

"Thanks. Do you want to grab a quick drink? This is all going to wrap up soon."

Hermione couldn't think of anything she wanted less. The sheer horror of having to speak to Ron and his gorgeous girlfriend was bad enough but dressed as a witch? With this bloody great nose stuck to her face? It wasn't going to happen in this century. Aware she couldn't stand around much longer like this without being really obvious, she made her excuses with Cassandra and made her way back to her father to pack up.

In the safety of her bathroom, as she smeared off the face paint with cotton pads, Hermione reminded herself once again that she should be happy she had seen Ron this evening. Imagine if she had've tried to kiss him like she almost had the night of her birthday? The humiliation of him turning her down would be more than her life worth living. Also, she mused as she examined her face, she didn’t like the sensation she had felt on seeing Ron with someone else. The cold flatness of jealousy. It was a clear sign, as if another was needed, that she had become too fond of their upstairs neighbour.

She slid her jeans off and hung them over the back of the chair. It wouldn't be until the next morning that she would remember the necklace in the pocket, the pearly opal humming with its own wicked vibration.


	6. Chapter 6

**Happy Sunday! This chapter is a long one so hunker down. After the mess the opal made in October, it’s down to the citrine to work some magic on Ron and Hermione. Can it make sparks fly on Bonfire Night?**

**Hope you like it.**

**NOVEMBER/CITRINE**

**Citrine is a yellow variety of quartz. It is thought to boost self-esteem and success, increasing intellect and dispelling misconceptions and doubts. It does not need cleansed as other gemstones do as it does not accumulate or hold negative energy, making it a grounding, protective stone. The Chinese consider it to be the stone of success.**

Mark had been building the crystal bonfire for the window for the past few weeks using smoky crystals and a variety of yellow, red and orange glass chips. Wilhelm had been adjusting and readjusting individual chips since it was put in place but he seemed pleased with it all the same.

It was Monday morning and didn't it always seem to be Monday? Elevenses were tiny millfeuilles from the artisan bakery which helped slightly. Margot had taken the week off and Mark was working on another project so it was just Hermione and Wilhelm left to enjoy them.

When the little doorbell chimed, Hermione brushed crumbs from her face and stuck her head round the door jamb. Inwardly groaning she looked towards Wilhelm. "It's Mrs. Caldicott. To see you I presume."

Wilhelm jumped to his feet and arranged his waistcoat. "Such a tone Hermione," he whispered, brushing past her into the shop. Hermione sat back down and sliced a millfeuille in half. Bogart raised his head from where he was curled in his basket on the floor, catching the crunch on the wind. Evidently he understood it was nothing he would be interested in as he laid it back down again.

Taking a sip of tea, Hermione tried to block out Mrs. Caldicott waffling on about all the village gossip, Wilhelm softly deferring to her opinion on everything. Mrs. Caldicott was in possession of a very fine gold signet ring from the First World War that unclipped to reveal a space for a photograph. She had be threatening to sell it for years and Wilhelm wanted to be the lucky buyer so he tolerated her almost weekly visits, considerately nodding in the right places, tutting in others, despite the fact she never pronounced his name correctly. The problem, as Hermione saw it, was that he was too captive an audience and she doubted Mrs. Caldicott would ever sell the ring while she had Wilhelm under her spell.

Using her phone, she flicked through the email Suzy had sent her suggesting holiday locations and allowed her mind to ease into the notion of a beach, a book and a bloody big margherita. Lying back in her chair she closed her eyes and let the daydream wash over her. It had been so long since she'd had a holiday she could practically feel the sun on her skin.

"And I don't think it'll be too long before you'll be having new neighbours William." Hermione's eyes snapped open.

"Is that so Myra? And what, may I ask, gave you that impression?"

Hermione could hear the tinkle of metal as Mrs. Caldicott rifled through the counter display. "Oh I think it's common knowledge that this venture of theirs was never going to last. A toyshop? Here? I don't think anyone thought that was a good idea."

"On the contrary Myra, I thought it was an excellent idea." Hermione caught her breath. In all her years with Wilhelm, she had never heard him directly contradict Mrs. C.

The tinkling stopped. "Really William? You surprise me. Where was the need for it, I mean really? There hasn't been a toyshop here for years, practically since you and I were children ourselves."

"The perfect time then, to open one, wouldn't you say?" There was a pause.

"Well I just don't know. Lila says they're losing money hand over fist. Can't keep the water out if the boat is full of holes William."

"I do wonder how Lila Hathaway would know such a thing Myra. And I can see no holes in their boat, so to speak. From what I have witnessed, the Weasley brothers have worked exceptionally hard to renovate their section of the building, which had been laid to waste for years. Their merchandise appears of good quality and two of the nicest boys you never did meet."

Bogart had risen from his slumber again and nudged his way onto Hermione's knee. He sat in stillness, as if listening just as avidly to the conversation in the shop.

"Yes," Mrs. Caldicott replied grudgingly, "They helped Pat Phillips with some kegs he needed moving into The Saw when he was shorthanded. He said they had been in several times and had always been friendly. Derek Foley took his granddaughter in a few weeks ago to get something for her birthday and the shorter one gave it to him for free. Said they owed him for all the trouble they had caused with the skip out the front of the surgery."

"Well that sounds about right Myra. Decent young men then."

"But giving things away for free is no way to do business William," she responded, as if determined to find some fault with the Weasleys’ set up.

Hermione heard Wilhelm shuffle out round the counter. "I don't think we can hold that against them do you Myra? Now, I must get back to work. Do let me know when you want to call in to discuss the signet ring." He hustled her out of the shop amidst protestations.

When he returned to the office, Hermione looked up at him expectantly. "Pour the tea away will you Hermione dear? It will be cold by now." Lifting Bogart from her knee, Wilhelm disappeared into the back room and shut the door.

Hermione began clearing away the tea set, mind whirring with the newly gleaned information. Mrs. Caldicott was a windbag at best but occasionally truth could be found in her gossip. Was the toyshop in financial trouble? She hadn't engaged in proper conversation with Ron for weeks now, although how likely was it that he would tell her they were having problems? It wasn't something people liked to talk about.

Despite her confused feelings about Ron, Hermione felt sorry for the brothers, if this was indeed the case. The shop had cost them so much, not just money but time, effort and in Ron's case sleep. And it was such a beautiful place, such thought put into every little detail. It wasn’t fair that it was failing when they had only just begun.

Replacing the teapot in the cupboard, Hermione heard the door chime again and stepped through into the shop, mind still full of Ron's supposed predicament. This fact was probably the reason her brain stalled as she took in the customer. For he was tall and red headed and for a moment she wondered if had she conjured Ron just by furious thought.

"Hermione!" The red head stalked over and grabbed her in a bearhug and she flopped uselessly for a moment in his arms as her brain caught up with her eyes. It was only when he set her down that she regained the power of speech.

"Callum? My God, what are you doing here?"

He grinned, strong white teeth like a wolf. "Just passing though. I was in this neck of the woods for work but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to call in and see you. What has it been ten years?" His Scottish accent was strong but she found it perfectly understandable, as if they had just seen each other yesterday.

"More probably. I can't believe you're here. Are you staying?"

"Only until Sunday. I don't think my aunt could take me any longer. I used more hot water in the shower this morning than she uses in a month."

Hermione smiled at the thought of Callum's old aunt Vivian. Once the terror of the village with her mobility scooter, she was now so frail that she rarely ventured out. Hermione had thought her old back then, she must be ancient now.

"You'll come to the bonfire then?"

He nodded and then reached into a leather messenger bag at his hip. "I have something for you actually. Well, probably more for Wilhelm. My mum gave me these before I left Scotland."

He produced a leatherette box and handed it to her. Setting it on top of the glass, she opened it, revealing four silver brooches. Set with citrine, each was slightly different in design but all featured the Scottish thistle.

"I know they aren't particularly valuable but Mum thought they might raise a bit of money as a set. They belonged to her great grandmother and her three sisters."

She closed the lid and smiled. "We will look at them for you. Are you free to meet for lunch tomorrow?"

After they had made plans and Callum had left, Hermione spent the rest of the day serving a sudden rush of customers. Many people seemed to be on holiday, perhaps taking a long half term break driving through beautiful parts of the country and stopping in villages as they went. Mostly they bought trinkets and small items like earrings but every little helped. The crystal bonfire was certainly a huge draw.

That evening as she languished in the bath with her book, Callum popped into her head. She clearly had a thing for redheads now she thought about it, although she had forgotten that Callum was ginger. His family had moved to the area from Scotland when he was twelve. They attended school together, started dating when she fifteen and continued seeing each other on and off over the years until his family moved back again when she was eighteen. He had been her first everything; first boyfriend, first real kiss, first sexual experience. It hadn't been a difficult decision to lose her virginity to Callum; he was a year older than her and he usually took the lead in most areas of their time together. He had been smart and handsome, popular with pupils and teachers alike. Perhaps a little accustomed to getting his own way but he countered that by often being sweet and kind too.

When he left for Scotland they vowed to keep in contact and, for a while, she had held onto that hope, it kept her going. But the emails from Callum got fewer, the promise to visit didn't materialise and she had to let it go. It had been painful, God how it had hurt in the beginning. The slow realisation that whatever promises they had made to each other were to come to nothing was incredibly wounding. It had been the first time in an essentially charmed life that things hadn’t gone Hermione’s way. So Callum had been her first heartbreak too, though it hadn’t lasted forever. Soon after she started university and her time was take up by lectures, coursework and nights out in cheap bars and now she could look back on it, distance separating her from the memories, and realise that they were young and naïve, earnest in their ideas and plans but ultimately unrealistic.

At lunch the next day, Callum easily reminded her why she had been so in love with him. Confident and charming, switching between conversations about old school friends and his IT company’s merger breezily, he was exactly as she remembered him. There was, on the other hand, something not quite right about his recollection of her.

“You were always so quiet, head in a book, scared to speak up or have an opinion on anything. I used to call you Wee Mouse remember?” She didn’t actually remember this, nor did she remember being so clammed up that she didn’t have an opinion on anything. For God’s sake she had been President of the Debate Team, opinions were all she had.

“Well I still like to read,” she offered in the end, not quite sure how to suggest that Callum’s recall was not the same as hers or whether to even mention it at all. It had been a long time ago and perhaps she had been more sedate than she was now.

“And you’re still here, selling necklaces at the Snitch. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you standing behind the counter yesterday.” Should she remind him he had to have already known, since her came looking for her? No, it was hardly necessary. “You were always the smartest girl in your year. Why aren’t you off doing things?” He took a long swallow of iced tea.

Hermione felt herself bristle and resisted the sensation with some difficulty. “Well, I’m doing things here. Wilhelm has put me through a ream of certificates so I’m qualified in all sorts of areas of the jewellery industry. I’m the manageress of the Snitch. It isn’t all selling necklaces you know. In fact it will probably be me who values your mother’s brooches.” She attempted to keep her voice light and finished the sentence with a smile.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Callum frowned, lightly placing his hand on hers, “I just mean you have brains to burn. You shouldn’t waste yourself in Twain.”

Still with a smile doggedly in place, she slid her hand out from under his and forked salad into her mouth. “I promise you, nothing goes to waste. So, tell me about this trip you’re planning. What route will you take?”

Suddenly invigorated by the conversation shift, Callum lit up and began discussing his proposed yearlong sabbatical from work. As he talked Hermione felt her attention wander. Perhaps she didn’t remember Callum quite as well as she thought she did. Now, spending time with him, she was slowly being reminded of his ability to hog the dialogue, on the surface asking questions about her and listening to the answers, but not really engaging until he was once again talking about himself. Hermione could not conjure up any memory of being frustrated with this when they were dating. Had she been so caught up in the teenage fog of hormones and the desire to please that she just couldn’t see it? Possibly things like this simply don’t annoy fifteen years old lovesick girls.

“….. so anyway because we broke up two months ago it looks like I’ll be going on my own,” Callum was saying as she tuned back in, “Unless you want to come?”

Hermione raised any eyebrow. “What? Leave Twain and go backpacking with you for a year?”

Callum shrugged. “Why not? Nothing keeping you here.”

The sting of his last comment was quick and biting; it appeared to be a common assumption that Hermione was somehow trapped in Twain, waiting for someone to rescue her. It has been suggested frequently by the men she had dated, as though her life here was just a stop gap to the real world. Infuriating really that a home, family and friends and a well-loved job could be presumed ‘nothing’.

“Actually, I have plenty keeping me here Callum,” she responded with a frown, her voice sharper than she had intended but pleasingly so, “Like, my whole life. Perhaps you aren’t sure what you are doing with your life but I’m quite happy with mine. Thanks.”

Callum’s mouth curved into an ‘o’ of surprise. “Och listen to you! Fairly told me off didn’t you? I’m doing nothing but pissing you off today Miss Granger. Sorry I spoke!” Then he laughed and the tension that had been inching upwards was quashed.

By the following night she had forgotten their conversation as she stood with Cassandra, drinking hot chocolate and watching Pat and Mike hauling an overstuffed Guy Fawkes made by the primary school children to the top of the bonfire. A whoop arose from the crowd as the bottom was lit and flames licked greedily up each side. Imelda from the bakery had set up a metal basket on a stand where marshmallows could be roasted on skewers and Derry Flood the butcher was manning the hog roast.

“Is that Callum Spence?” Cass said suddenly, pointing over the green.

Hermione narrowed her eyes to peer through the smoke. Callum was walking up the main street alongside Vivian, ensconced on her scooter and doing a jaunty 2 miles per hour. Something throbbed in her temple.

“Yep. He’s just passing through. Leaving tomorrow.”

“You used to go out with him didn’t you? He had a paper round out of the shop for a while. I seem to recall you hanging about a lot, carrying his bag for him.”

Yet another thing Hermione realised she had forgotten. Callum had hated that paper round so she would go with him, lugging the bag so he could push his bike. She probably delivered more papers than he did.

She didn’t answer Cassandra, instead volunteering to fetch more hot chocolate from the table in front of the pub. As she churned the powder into milk with a spoon, she felt someone at her elbow.

“Can I help?” She handed Callum the paper cup which he duly filled with hot water from the flask and delivered to Cassandra, now deep in conversation with Imelda, while she prepared a second which he took to Vivian. After she made one for each of them, they walked down towards the bonfire, which had quickly strengthened and was becoming more robust by the minute, the Guy Fawkes engulfed.

“I forgot they did all this. All these community things.” Hermione almost interjected with ‘weird village events’ until she remembered it wasn’t their joke.

“Did you enjoy coming back?”

“I enjoyed seeing you. Took me back all those years, to before we broke up.”

“We didn’t technically break up,” she replied, surprised he had brought it up, “We said we’d stay in touch, remember? You were going to come down and see me, I was going to go to Scotland.”

Callum snorted. “Nah, really? Did we really say that? Just shows you how young and stupid we were. As if that would have ever happened. I’ve tried long distance relationships. Never work.” He snorted derisively again. “Can’t remember being _that_ dumb but hey. I was a teenage boy. We all have shite ideas.”

Hermione thought about how much her eighteen year old self had held on to the very idea that Callum was now dismissing so casually, how thinking it could happen had prolonged the misery and heartbreak of his departure unnecessarily. What she wouldn’t give to reach back in time and show her younger self this moment and tell her that he really wasn’t worth it.

“I was serious, about how good it is to see you Hermione,” he reiterated as the wind picked up and fanned the bonfire, causing the flames to heighten. “I’d like to see you again.”

“Well come back after your sabbatical and you can tell me all about it,” she said brightly. There was something strange about his tone that made her uncomfortable. “I’ll let you bore me with photographs.”

He turned towards her and took her arm, his expansive hand enclosing her elbow confidently. “I meant what I said yesterday. About coming with me. I know I shouldn’t have said that stuff about you not having a life here. I didn’t mean it that way. Look at it as an opportunity to do something fun. Catherine had the initial ticket booked so we’d just have to change the name. We could go together.”

It took Hermione a moment to process this, both what Callum had just said and the fact that yes, he was serious. “Did you hit your head on the way in Callum? You turn up after twelve years and ask a girl you went to school with to go on a round the world trip with you? Doesn’t that seem slightly crazy?”

He shrugged. “You aren’t just a girl I went to school with. We dated.”

“Twelve years ago,” she spluttered, unable now to keep the astonishment from her voice, “We were teenagers and you don’t know me anymore Callum.”

It was his turn to splutter. “Of course I know you! You’re the same person you were all those years ago Hermione, you haven’t changed a bit!” He paused and then said slowly, “Look I know you think it’s mad me asking you to come with me but that was our thing remember?” His voice was low now, persuasive. “I was the one who came up with these hare-brained schemes and then you would try to talk me out of it. I would tell you why it was a good idea and you always came round. We complemented each other you and me. I was the wild, crazy one, you were the sensible, strait-laced one.”

“Ouch,” Hermione muttered.

“Och I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, backpedalling. “I just mean we were good for each other. You grounded me and I persuaded you to take risks. A perfect team.”

Hermione felt her throat close over in rage. All this time he had thought of her as some prim and proper little woman he had to set free, like pulling the glasses from the dowdy secretary and letting her hair down. How had he got her so wrong?

She opened her mouth, determined that this time she would tell him the truth in such a way that he couldn’t come back from it, when he stopped her. “Oh hell, Aunt Vivian is starting a row with someone. Listen, wait for me after the fireworks will you? I want to talk to you some more.” She looked up at him and he grinned that appealing smile, one big potent hit of handsomeness and charm. He squeezed her arm and walked purposefully back towards the mobility scooter.

Her fury, now with no place to go, flushed up her throat into her face and she walked closer to the flames. The heat from the bonfire was welcome, it scorched her already burning cheeks. She stood for long minutes, allowing the hot air to swirl round her, letting her anger settle and dissipate slightly.

"I knew you'd be here somewhere. Never miss a weird village event you." Ron stepped up next to her then looked as though he instantly regretted it. "Blimey it's hot this close. I know it's chilly but you'll catch fire at this rate!"

She turned her face towards him. "I like the heat." He nodded and then pulled something out his pocket.

"Toffee apple?"

Hermione thought about turning it down but the sugar might have some effect on her impotent resentment so she accepted it. "Why is it you always have a ready supply of junk food?"

Ron bit into his apple with a crack. "Be prepared. That's the Scout motto."

"And were you actually a Scout?"

"Nah. I don't look good in shorts." She found herself laughing with him, mind still racing with Callum's arrogant proposition.

“Is it legal to just light a bonfire on a village green?”

“Not strictly no. There’s an ancient bylaw in Twain..”

“Of course you know all about it,” Ron interrupted.

“Yes, thank you I do actually. It is actually illegal but the council ignores it providing they use a specific spot. Tomorrow the local committee will have someone dig up the scorched grass and replace it with new turf. That’s the deal.”

A figure appeared at her side. "Hermione. Can I take a moment of your time? Hello Mr. Weasley. Enjoying the evening?"

"Yes thank you Mr. Vossler. Hermione was just having a go at me for eating too much junk food."

Wilhelm nodded serenely. "Then I won't delay you a moment longer than necessary. Hermione, I saw you with Callum this evening. He left one of the brooches in the shop this afternoon- when you next speak, can you please pass it on? I’m going home now to make a call to New York." He offered her a tiny velvet bag which she took.

"Of course." He nodded again and then walked smartly away.

"If that's the guy you were with earlier on, I saw him near the maypole a while ago with a really small woman on a scooter. She was really very small."

"Thanks," Hermione replied distractedly, "I'll find him later." She absolutely did not want to see him now, not until she had worked up exactly the right withering response. Fruitlessly she looked for a place to store the brooch. “These jeans have no pockets and neither does my coat.”

“I’ll hold it for you,” Ron said, sliding the little bag into his jacket.

Hermione bit a chunk out of her toffee apple and turned back to the fire, listening to it spitting, heat streaming over her skin. She was aware of Ron standing next to her but oddly she felt more preoccupied with Callum. What on earth would possess him to make such ridiculous assumptions?

After a minute of silence, Ron piped up, "Is your friend not sticking around then?"

Hermione's head swam and she struggled to bring herself back to the moment. "Who?"

"The big ginger guy. Mr. Vossler said he was leaving tomorrow."

"Uh, yes. I mean no, no he isn't sticking around. He lives in Scotland, he was here for work."

Ron seemed to consider this for a moment. "Do you know him from Uni then?"

"No, he lived here when we were teenagers." What was with all the questions all of a sudden? If there was one thing Ron seemed to have a problem with it was silence.

"There's George. Shall we get some cider? I'll treat you." He didn't wait for her to respond before taking her arm and pulling her along with him towards the little red and white stand where George was standing talking to Mark.

As Ron paid for the cups, George whirled to face them. "Hermione! Had your nose job then?"

She pulled a face. "Yes, thank you for your kind and sincere concern."

"Personally I thought you looked great," Mark interjected, pointing a finger at her face, "Your real nose is so boring."

"What's all this?" Ron handed her a cup. "What's wrong with your nose?"

In that split second, Hermione realised what was going to happen and that there was no way to stop it.

"That big conk she was wearing the night of Halloween. Didn't you see it? I've been trying to get her to confess where she bought it but she clearly doesn't want anybody else wearing the same one. Girls hate that!"

Beside her, she could sense Ron had stilled. "It's not that! It's really old and I can't remember where I got it."

"You were at the green on Halloween night?" A tiny, quiet voice next to her spoke.

"Oh so it's a family heirloom is it?" George's voice carried loud over the top.

"Passed down through the generations no doubt George, " Mark laughed, warming to the theme.

She gave them a stern look as they bantered boisterously and sipped from her cup. The cider streaked down her throat, spicy and syrupy. Ron hadn't spoken again and she wondered briefly if she should acknowledge his question before deciding against it. Now he knew, didn't he? He knew that she knew. In the distance she saw Margot talking to Vivian and Callum. Oh hell, why were the men in her life so complicated?

Pat Phillips stepped outside The Saw and shouted, "Five minutes til the fireworks!" through cupped hands, which started a general amble down to one end of the green where the stands had been set up. Ron walked next to her, now suddenly mute. She glanced at him once or twice but his face was inscrutable, staring straight ahead.

When they reached the end of the green nearest the trees Mark and George volunteered to help nail up the Catherine Wheels, which left them alone again. The wind was picking up further and Hermione caught her hair in one hand, pulling it one side so it couldn't waft into her face. She wished she had thought to bring a hat, her hair could take off crazily at any moment if she didn't discipline it.

The silence between her and Ron was starting to feel strange; it wasn't natural for Ron to be so quiet. She turned towards him and smiled.

"The fireworks should be really good. I mean, Pat buys them in specially. They aren't your usual weird village event fireworks."

She saw a ghost of a smile raise itself in Ron's cheeks. "Did you enjoy Halloween? I didn't see you that night, I thought you didn't go."

Hermione was glad it was dark- for all her bravado she could feel herself blush. "My dad asked me to help out at his stall. Dunking for apples. I think the kids prefer junk food but he's a dentist so he promotes the good stuff."

"George didn't tell me he had seen you." Faint now, sort of wistful.

_Oh to hell with it, what was the point in pussyfooting around? _"Yeah, he came by the stall. I saw you guys later, by the pub but I didn't like to intrude."

Just at the moment the first of the fireworks were lit and rockets went screaming into the sky followed by something that rained golden sparks in a huge arc. Hermione inhaled the smoky air, determined not to say any more than she had already. Somewhere further into the green, George lit a massive Catherine wheel that had been nailed to a post and it started pinwheeling around in a hot mass of pink and blue.

Pat had just lit something close by that howled upwards when Ron spoke again.

"Sorry what?" The firework banged repeatedly in the air.

He moved closer. "I was just saying. You wouldn't have been intruding. A friend of mine came up with Angelina to see us. I wasn't really expecting her." Another howl and more bangs. "We used to date actually, before I moved here." Hermione pretended to intently study the roman candles that had started fizzing. "But it's over. Between us."

"I'm sorry Ron, that must have been hard. Break ups aren't easy." The words sounded false in her ears.

"It wasn’t at first. It was her idea; didn't want a long distance relationship." Something electric white pierced the night with a whistle. "But then she shows up here, out of the blue. Surprise!"

Hermione fought with herself. _Don't say anything. Do not say anything._ "Maybe she wants to get back together." _Dammit._

Ron snorted. "Yeah, maybe. Not going to happen though. I had thought for a while that maybe we could have given it another go. I mean, it was left sort of… undecided I suppose. But then she came here and I realised definitely not. I'm... I've moved on. I think we'd both been moved on long before we split." He paused and then said suddenly, "Do you ever think people like the idea of you more than the real you?"

Hermione was taken aback by the question but she instantly thought of Callum. Who he thought of as Hermione didn't really resemble the person she was now, or perhaps ever was. It made the headache she had felt the rumblings of earlier seem worse.

"Sorry I don't know why I said that. I dunno what’s the matter with me, saying all this. I'm gonna shut up now."

"I do actually," she replied and Ron looked surprised. "I know what you mean."

“Do you really?”

“Yes. And I’ve done it myself. Tried to be a long distance relationship. It didn’t last and it was really painful when I realised it was over. Now I look back at it and I wish I hadn’t bothered. It hurt a lot and it really wasn’t worth it.” The venom in her voice shocked her a little. “It was probably for the best that you didn’t try to do it. It just prolongs the inevitable.”

“Message received. You don’t mince your words Hermione Granger.” As another rocket was launched, Hermione put her hand to her forehead. "Are you ok?"

"I've just had this headache on and off all day. I think I might head home."

He lightly touched her elbow. "Can I walk you?"

Hermione thought about Callum's earlier proposition and opened her mouth to refuse. But something stopped her. She wasn’t sure what it was really. It could have been Ron's declaration that he was single, the sweet relief that had coursed through her as he said it, or her strong desire to avoid seeing Callum until she had worked out what she was going to say to him, if anything. Maybe it was the soft way Ron had asked her if he could walk her home or the shy way he smiled when he asked her.

Two men had taken her arm this evening; one self-assured, an unafraid statement of a grip, the other delicate, a soothing, unassuming question. There had been a time when self-assurance was what she reached for, as though seeing herself in another and responding to it. Hermione had never given much weight to the idea of yin-yang, of opposites attracting because wasn’t that nonsense? Surely better to be with someone who tackled life as you did, behaved as you behaved. ‘Got’ you.

Yet she found that the hand on her elbow now was so much more pleasing to her than the other had been.

"Yes. Please." Ron's smile grew bigger. "Let me just go speak to Mark. Will you give me the brooch please?" She walked over to where Mark and George were chatting to Phil.

"Enjoying the show Hermione?"

"Yes Phil, great as always. Mark, could you do me a favour? Hand this over to Callum for me? He left it in the shop."

Mark raised an eyebrow as he took the bag. "Thought you might want to give it to him yourself. He's leaving tomorrow isn't he?"

Hermione danced back and forth. "Yes but it's fine. Tell him I'll call him next week ok?" Without giving Mark any time to come back, she hurried back to Ron. "Ready!" Ron held out his arm and she linked hers through it, feeling a grin spread over her face. Suddenly the headache didn't seem half as bad.

They started through the village, skirting round parents with sleepy kids in their arms and intertwined couples. As they walked, neighbours would call out greetings and Hermione would wave but she stayed close to Ron's side for the journey, only pulling apart from him when they arrived at her front door some twenty minutes later.

"Thank you for walking me home. Did you enjoy the weird village event?"

Ron pulled his collar up, stamping his feet. "I did. Although maybe next time we go to one it could be inside? It's bloody cold." Barely conscious of what she was doing, Hermione took a step closer to Ron and took his hands in hers, rubbing them gently.

"You need to invest in gloves Ron Weasley," she said brusquely, feeling anything but. Being close to Ron brought memories of their almost kiss to her mind which did strange things to her insides.

"I have them, I just forget them," he replied, watching her. "And where's the need if I have you to warm me up?" His last words suspended themselves between them as if actually written in the air. Hermione looked down and realised she had stopped rubbing. Now it was just his hands cupped inside hers.

"I meant what I said earlier," Ron murmured, gaze now fixed on their hands, "I'm not getting back together with my ex. I don't care what she wants. I don't want that. She's..... not what I want."

"Thank you for telling me," Hermione's reply barely a whisper.

"And that guy, the _other_ ginger," he went on, his tone light though she sensed his words weren't, "You and him..." He trailed off and shuffled a little.

"There's nothing going on between me and Callum."

Ron exhaled quickly and smiled. "Ok." As Hermione met his eyes, something screeched behind her and she turned to see a silver blue chrysanthemum firework bloom across the black sky.

"See I told you..." Her sentence remained unfinished. In one moment she sensed Ron's body close in on hers as he moved forward, in the next, she felt his cool fingers on the side of her face, tenderly pulling it towards him. And then his mouth was on hers and she didn't feel anything but that.

It was one of those kisses that you have anticipated for a while, that you hope will be good, that you think will be. And it turns out to be delicious. Much, much more delicious than she had imagined. Ron ran his tongue over her bottom lip, one hand cradling the base of her skull, pulling her closer and she closed the gap between them, body fizzing like sherbet. He alternated airy little butterfly grazes with more prolonged kisses, sometimes deep, sometimes barely perceptible. His other hand was light at the base of her spine and briefly she marvelled at how perfect the height difference was. There was just enough reaching on both sides to meet impeccably in the middle. There was something about Ron's height that made her feel protected; wrapped in his long arms Hermione felt small and sort of dainty. Not a sensation she was used to. But didn't it feel good?

Ron broke away first and she resisted the urge to pull him back. His eyes, she noticed, were black, pupils hugely dilated, like they were taking in every inch of her. She could hear someone breathing in little gasps and couldn't tell if it was her or Ron. Or both of them actually as they each seemed breathless.

"As first kisses go, I would have to congratulate myself on that one," he said eventually, laughing a little.

"Oh really?"

Ron widened his eyes. "Uh _yeah_! Fireworks going off in the background is pretty good don't you think? Like a movie scene."

Hermione looked upwards, pretending to think. "Well yes. It wasn't bad at all."

"Needs more practice though, is that what you’re saying?"

"Definitely could do with a bit more work."

Ron laughed again and lifted her hand. Kissing the back lingeringly, he grinned up at her. "Challenge accepted Hermione Granger. See you at work on Monday."

Hermione watched his retreating back until he merged with the darkness, fingertips to her lips where he had kissed her, lightheaded and giddy.

~

On Monday morning, Hermione took special care with her appearance; sliding on a bottle green dress instead of her usual shirt and trousers combo, applying two coats of mascara instead of one and drying her hair properly so her ponytail fell in defined curls instead of its usual frizz.

She practically skipped to work, intent on being early so she could set up the shop alone and try to dampen her excitement at the possibility of seeing Ron. However, when she arrived she found the shutters already up and as she approached, the door opened and both Weasleys emerged.

"Thanks again Wilhelm," George was saying, turning back to shake hands, "We will get right on it."

"Yeah thanks. I'm really looking forward to this," Ron added, slapping George boisterously on one shoulder.

Wilhelm saw her first. "And here is our heroine. Good morning Hermione, don't you look radiant today? Goodness you are glowing." Both Ron and George turned towards her and she felt heat creeping up her neck towards her cheeks. "Did you have a good weekend? I think you must have."

"Yes, thank you Wilhelm, it was fine." She desperately wanted to meet Ron's eyes to get some unspoken reassurance that they were ok. Suddenly now, in his presence, she felt unsure of herself. Wilhelm's teasing, however, put paid to that and she hurried past the group by the door and into the shop.

Wilhelm worked alongside her silently throughout the setting up, speaking not one word about his early morning meeting with the Weasley brothers and, although she was bursting to know, Hermione did not ask. Still he smiled like the cat that had got the cream all morning and it was only when Mark brought in a lilac box- butterfly cakes- and they were all sitting at the little table, tea freshly poured, that he made his announcement.

"The Golden Snitch will be undertaking a collaboration with Weasley's Wonders for Christmas. As you probably know, the Nutcracker is being performed next month in the old church and we are going to use this as our overarching theme. I have already drawn up the plans for our decor incorporating their toys- Mark I will need you to build a few pieces, I will show you later. Margot, there will be a shipment arriving on Thursday morning, the items are on loan from a very dear friend of mine in New York and they have been in storage for quite some time. I will need you to clean and check each piece- they are very old- and make a note of anything we will need to fix."

He took a bite of cake, smiling at their surprised faces. Hermione- as usual- was first to speak. "A collaboration? We have never done anything like this before."

"Indeed Hermione, that is true. But we mustn't shy away when opportunities present themselves. I have several items on the list I will need you to help me with. Not least because we have so little time."

"We have three weeks Wilhelm," she interjected, glancing at Mark who just looked baffled, "Three weeks to completely rework the window and the shop interior. You decided two months ago on a Christmas tree theme, the stock is already in the back room."

"We will find a way to incorporate that too. Don't fret Hermione, it will all work out." He patted her hand gently. "I have asked George and Ronald to source the relevant merchandise- they are delighted with the whole concept. Ronald, in particular, seemed very keen to be involved. Offered his services on all manner of aspects of the project."

Wilhelm's eyes slid towards her but Hermione kept her countenance. "How can they hope to fulfil their side of this collaboration? They don't have the connections or the resources.."

Wilhelm raised a hand to silence her. "I have every faith in them Hermione and you should too. In every respect they seem to me to be capable, hardworking boys. Is that not the case?"

She paused before she answered. His words had triggered something, the memory of Myra Caldicott telling Wilhelm that Weasley's Wonders was in financial difficulty.

"Yes," she replied at last, "They seem very capable."

Wilhelm nodded once. "Certainly." Which brought the conversation to a close.


	7. Chapter 7

**Finally it is Christmas in Twain! Ron and Hermione have kissed! What we need now is some festivity, a few cups of mulled wine and big old fire.**

**Again, your supportiveness is lovely and so appreciated. I have just started writing my next AU so seeing the little kudos and follower emails spurs me on. Hope you like this chapter.**

**DECEMBER/TURQUOISE**

**Turquoise is a mineral, made from copper and aluminium. The ancient Persians believed it could be used to ward off evil and attain good fortune, especially if you saw the reflection of a new moon in the stone. Turquoise is quite porous and can be prone to fading. It is thought that a turquoise can warn of danger and will break to protect the wearer from harm.**

It was 1:24 AM on December 1st when Hermione gently rubbed glitter from the nose of a reindeer with a cotton bud whilst simultaneously being held at the hip by Ron Weasley as she leant precariously into the window. At any other time and place, this might have incited a bit more interest in Hermione but the past three weeks had been so thoroughly exhausting that she didn't have it in her to be any more than thankful he was there.

"That's it, all done." Taking her hand, Ron helped her pull back upright and then descend the step ladder.

"I can't feel my face anymore," he mumbled, screwing his fist into his eye socket.

"I know. But we did it!" They did a sleepy hi-five. "I think Wilhelm left something for us."

They made their way into the back of the shop where they found two mugs prepared with hot chocolate powder next to the kettle, a can of whipped cream and a bag of tiny marshmallows. Ron prepared their drinks, temporarily perked up by the promise of something sweet. They slumped into chairs at opposite sides of the small table, quiet for a moment while they ingested their first sips.

"I can't believe we managed it. I know that you and Wilhelm are a bit of a dream team when it comes to getting stuff done but seriously. That was intense."

Hermione had assured herself all along that everything would eventually work out but even she had to admit there had been a few instances where she had truly felt it wouldn't. Not that she had allowed Ron to see how concerned she was. Hermione prided herself on being the very epitome of 'on top of it' and on any occasion when someone would question if they would ever get there, she made it blatantly clear she knew that they would. Even when she didn't.

"You and George were the real success stories. Wilhelm knows so many people, I've seen him pull more rabbits out of hats than I can remember. But you guys.... the shop looks amazing, the toys are fantastic, you pulled all of together so quickly. It couldn't have gone any better."

"I dunno about that, I think we were just lucky." Ron smiled and she noticed a sprinkling of gold glitter on the apple of his cheek.

Hermione knew it wasn't just luck that had gotten them to this point. From the moment the Weasley brothers had agreed to partner with the Golden Snitch they hadn't stopped working; from the sourcing of a selection of themed toys to the complete overhaul of the shop.

It had been Wilhelm's idea to divide the story of the Nutcracker between the two. Weasley's Wonders took Act One: they installed a giant Christmas tree using the decorations that had originally been intended for the Snitch and wooden soldiers and mice in plus fours and hats were positioned around the shop floor, engaged in battle.

The Snitch represented Act Two; sparkly, sugary jewellery and Venetian glass sweets and lollipops lay lusciously in the window surrounding, almost paying homage to, a glass ballet dancer posed in arabesque, a filmy pink skirt and golden crown her only adornment.

The job of making sure everything arrived when it was meant to had been a feat in itself but putting it all together and the endless back and forth between Wilhelm and the Weasleys about what was best had made the end result all the more miraculous. There was a persistent thread of chatter about the project in the village; it started fairly unfavourably with cronies of Mrs. Caldicott wondering aloud why Wilhelm would align himself with a failing business, especially one being run by outsiders.

Slowly, however, they had changed the narrative. Clarissa Lysander had been instrumental in integrating their venture with the ballet at the church; her family had long been patrons of the company and her adoration of Wilhelm played no small part. Now the performance would be preceded by a festive treasure hunt that took in all the small businesses in the village including the Golden Snitch and Weasley's Wonders. Weasley toys would decorate the old abandoned church and all through the month there would be competitions and spot prizes to be won in the shop.

Now people were only talking about how much the Weasleys were adding to the village. The treasure hunt was being advertised for miles around and expected to bring people from all the surrounding villages, drumming up extra Christmas business. When questioned, Wilhelm minimised his role, stating only that he was fortunate to be in such a partnership.

"We owe Mr. Vossler so much. His ideas..."

"They were your ideas," Hermione interrupted wearily, "You and George came up with most of it. You just needed Wilhelm to believe in you and give you a push."

"Yeah. That was good." He spooned a marshmallow into his mouth and added more cream to the top of his cup.

Working in such close proximity to Ron for the last three weeks had been both blessing and curse for Hermione. She had come to know him more as a person, watched him make decisions, listened to his persuasive arguments, witnessed his easy relationship with his brother. The flipside of that was that there hadn't been any time to move things on romantically. Since that first magical kiss on Bonfire Night there hadn't been any others.

Not that there hadn't been little glimpses of gold. They had shared several long lunches alone together going over various aspects of the project, heads together, lightly disagreeing and taking turns to admit defeat. Then there had been the time Hermione had come off the phone from a supplier who had sworn blind they would never have agreed to deliver on that specific date, face boiling, eye bulging with rage. Ron had balled up his hoodie and instructed her to bury her face into and scream really loudly. It had actually worked and, temper tantrum averted, they had laughed together until tears sprang from their eyes. That same hoodie was now draped over the chair at the end of her bed at home, having been foisted on her one particularly cold night in Weasley’s Wonders as they reviewed stock. Ron hadn’t asked for it back and Hermione did not offer. She had only worn it twice to bed.

Two evenings ago, the night dark and frigid, he had walked her home again and this time he had reached for her hand. They walked in companionable silence, gloved hand in ungloved hand, and as they approached her door Hermione thought about inviting him in. Part of her desperately wanted to progress whatever this was with Ron, unused as she was to the slow burn. She resisted though, mainly due to the sheer exhaustion both of them were neck deep in. When the momentum increased, she wanted to have the energy to enjoy it. So she had kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his way. It was the sensible thing to do but try telling that to the hot, heavy feeling in your low belly as you lie in the dark thinking about that flash of stomach you got earlier as he reached up to string some lights.

He caught her eye over the table and she looked away, irrationally concerned suddenly that he might know what she was thinking. She drained her cup and got to her feet, the sudden idleness of her body encouraging tiredness to wave over her. "Well, let's get out of here. Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I guess so. Listen Hermione," Ron reached over and encircled her wrist with his hand, "I know we haven't really had any time together since this whole Nutcracker thing kicked off."

"What do you mean? We've spent nearly every day together." Of course she knew what he meant but she wasn't quite ready to let him know that.

Ron rolled his eyes. "We've _worked_ together every day but I kinda wanted to do something other than talk about colour schemes and window decals. I guess I have missed our weird village event dates." He took her other hand and steepled their fingers. "I promise I will take you on a real date. You wouldn't believe it but I'm actually very romantic when I'm given the chance."

Hermione thought of the lapis lazuli bracelet that had slowly worked its way into her every day jewellery rotation. "I can see that."

"I've been majorly off my game recently but once all this calms down, I'm on it ok?"

The problem was, things didn't calm down. From that first morning and the big reveal, there had hardly been time to catch breath, let alone go out on a date. Both shops had been inundated with customers, drawn through word of mouth and write ups in the local press. George had been pushing the Festive Fun Trail on social media, publishing photographs of the epic Nutcracker battle happening in store which drew the Christmas shopping crowd in their droves, delighted to be supporting local, personal business.

Nearby primary schools booked their classes in for shortened versions of the Festive Fun Trail which ended with little cakes and milk in the bakery. There was a buzz about the village, everything more buoyant and glittering than before. Even the Twain council had jumped on the bandwagon, decorating the Christmas tree on the green in glistening purple sugar plums and fire-engine red toy soldiers. If Hermione had believed in magic, she would have sworn it was at work in Twain.

Wilhelm was quietly pleased with proceedings although he didn't allow them to completely lose their heads. The custom orders had been coming in steadily, as had the everyday jobs of cleaning, repairing and watch battery replacement. Expensive pieces were being left in for insurance valuations and items he had purchased on behalf of clients had to be packed and shipped.

He had taken to wearing an ostentatious turquoise ring he had been gifted in the 1970’s, telling anyone that asked that it warded off evil spirits.

"Are you channelling your inner Willie Nelson?" Mark risked a barb after one particularly busy afternoon.

Wilhelm tickled Bogart under the chin as the cat stalked over the counter. "You jest Mark but I think you underestimate the value of a little added help. And if I'm not mistaken..." He bent his hand into the light and examined the ring. "The turquoise is looking a little tired. It has taken a lot more excitement in recent weeks than it is used to."

"Shall I make you a nice cup of tea Wilhelm?" Margot looked hopeful, never one to shy away from a sit down.

"Yes, thank you Margot. Let's." They retired together to the back room, leaving Hermione to put away the rest of the window display.

"He's tired lately. All this has been very full on hasn't it?" she mused, bagging up a tray of bracelets.

"Hmmm? Yeah I don't think he's too far from retirement to be honest." Mark stabbed the buttons on the credit card machine until it began spewing a receipt.

"Really?" Hermione was momentarily taken aback. "Has he said something?"

Mark gathered the paper in a curly roll as it printed. "Well, no but he's clearly been planning for it. Careful investments, squirreling away money here and there. He can't go on here forever."

Hermione had never been able to imagine what the Snitch would be like without Wilhelm, probably because she had never tried. In her practical mind, she was aware that he was the first Vossler without children or siblings so there wasn't a natural chain for the shop to pass through so perhaps that was why she couldn't see anyone else behind the counter. There was no one else.

"What do you think will happen to the Snitch? If he retires, I mean?"

"Dunno. He'll sell it probably, someone else will take over." Mark paused, still examining the receipts. "Unless you want it?"

"Me?"

“Why not? You’re the protégé aren’t you?”

Hermione had always felt the situation at the Golden Snitch to be a delicate one. While she was not at all reticent about pushing for learning opportunities or talking Wilhelm into creating a managerial role for her when she felt the time was right, she was also aware of the fact that the shop belonged to the Vossler family; it had passed through generations and it wasn’t rightfully hers to expect. When she was younger, the idea of being groomed to take over wouldn’t have occurred to her- so sure was she that, sometime soon, she would move on. Now she was older, the question of what came next loomed more darkly than ever but, up until now, she had chosen to ignore it. She was the queen of overthinking, of planning down to minute detail but this was one thing she did not look at so closely and she didn’t allow herself to wonder why that might be.

“What about you?”

Mark looked up from the paper in his hand. “Nah, I’m a behind the scenes man. My contributions are monetary, with the occasional building of bonfires and sapphire mines as required. I don’t have the knowledge Wilhelm has given to you, nor do I have the interest to go it alone.” He marked something on the receipt with his pen. “Nah, if Wilhelm retires I will take my investment out of the sale and stick it somewhere else. There’s always someone looking cash.”

~

The night of the Nutcracker performance bustled in on top of them quicker than anyone had anticipated. The Weasleys had promised full costume and Wilhelm was eager for Hermione to join in. With the exception of the witch’s nose at Halloween, Hermione was not enamoured with fancy dress; it made her feel mildly ridiculous. It took five full days of Wilhelm’s persuasive, verging on nagging, chatter to convince her and only then did she agree on the proviso that she got to pick the outfit. The mauve bodice gave way to a multi-layered damson skirt that, thankfully, was more A line than tutu. Wilhelm had crowned her with a pearl and crystal tiara and she dusted her curls with pink glitter.

As she walked onto the shop floor at five o'clock Mark, who had been tweaking a bulb in the counter, stood up slowly and whistled. "Well now, that's a Sugar Plum Fairy right there!"

"Stop it now."

"Come on and give us a twirl Ballerina Barbie!"

"Mark, I mean it..."

"Hermione!" Wilhelm came up behind her and grabbed her shoulders. "You look wonderful." Wilhelm cheeks were pale even in the rosy glow of the shop lights so she took every tease Mark had to offer. The theatrics of this whole production pleased Wilhelm no end and she wanted it to be perfect for him.

For the next two hours kids traipsed through the shop, eager to get the next clue and rifle in the Sugar Plum Fairy's bag of plastic gems and gaudy paste jewellery for something to take home. Parents smiled and oo'd at the decorations, even those that already seen the display. Everyone stopped by Wilhelm who was perched on a high stool in the corner with Bogart and told him how wonderful it all was. Every so often Hermione would hear the screams of delight as children passed by on their way from Weasley's Wonders, talking animatedly about soldiers that seemed to march by themselves and a Christmas tree laden with edible baubles.

At seven pm, Wilhelm eased himself off the chair and turned the door sign to 'Closed'. "Thank you for that Hermione. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Thank the Mr. Weasleys for me too." They embraced and Wilhelm disappeared into the office.

There was just time to reapply a slick of Very Berry lip gloss before the door rattled again. Ron's face appeared, one red painted circle high on each cheek, hair stuck sweatily to his forehead.

"Kids. They'll be the bloody death of me. Honestly you wouldn't believe.... Oh. Wow." He stopped and took her in. "You look great."

The soft, dreamy look on his face made Hermione's stomach swoop. "Thank you. You won't be too embarrassed walking down the road with a thirty year old Sugar Plum Fairy?”

Ron stepped into the shop. "Only if you won't be embarrassed walking down the road with a twenty nine year old toy soldier." The gold braiding on the red jacket was distinctive but possibly slightly overshadowed by the tall hat with jaunty black feather. Hermione didn't think much of the white trousers until he did a twirl and she saw the fit from the back. God almighty how would she through the entire evening without staring at his arse? Men shouldn't look that good in white trousers.

He saw her expression change. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she stalled, grabbing her coat and hustling him out the door, "I was just thinking about.... it doesn't matter. Bye Wilhelm!"

The night was icy and Hermione used this to her full advantage, pressing close to Ron, tightly clasping his hand, taking dainty steps. The white Tudor houses they passed were merrily strung with lights and tinsel, Christmas trees winking rainbow colours. She pointed out little things that brought back happy memories: the duck pond which had frozen so extensively one winter she had been able to ice skate on it, an anonymous-looking black door that concealed a hidden gin distillery run by two elderly sisters. As they wound a careful path up the hill to the old church, she gestured at an crumbling, decrepit gravestone with a stone cross atop, the churchyard lit with buried uplighters.

“I had my first kiss next to that.”

“Really?” Ron looked bemused, “This place doesn’t quite scream ‘first kiss’ at me.”

“Well I was fifteen so cut me some slack. Although to be completely honest my absolute first kiss was in the Walled Garden at Lysander House but it wasn’t that successful so I don’t count it.”

“All a bit toothy was it?”

“No!” she slapped his arm and then sighed, “We had been mucking around all day and he had grabbed some of the plants, making fun of me when I shouted at him for wrecking the flowerbeds. Typical kid stuff. It was a sunny day and we didn’t realise he had crushed some hogweed. We sat down in the grass, big moment approaches DUN! DUN! DUUUUN!” She gestured explosively with her free hand. “The second he kissed me, he screamed and jumped up. Blisters all over his hands. He had to go to A&E for treatment. Ghastly really.”

She glanced at Ron who was trying not to laugh, his lips pursed together, shoulders shaking a little.

“Oh yes it’s funny now. Not so funny when you’re a fifteen year old girl who has to listen to the everlasting remarks in school. ‘Hermione Granger- SHE BURNS!’ ‘Watch out here comes Poison Ivy!’” Ron finally broke into a full laugh. “Oh sod off Ron! I bet your first kiss was completely normal.”

“Course it was,” he spluttered between guffaws, “Back of the cinema in third year, Kerry Peters. We went as a big group. Didn’t know she fancied me until halfway through the film when she launched herself onto my knee and stuck her tongue down my throat.”

“I’m sure you weren’t complaining.”

Ron shook his head. “Nah. It wouldn’t have been gentlemanly. I mean, she knocked my popcorn over but at least I didn’t end up with third degree burns!” Hermione shot him a black look as they joined the queue into the church. “Oh come on, it’s great story. Much more interesting than molestation in the cinema. And it’s not bad for the ego either. Now I know I can’t be the worst kiss you’ve ever had.” He grinned at her, hat now askew, feather bowing forward slightly.

She reached up and brushed it back, straightening the brim. “Well there were many, _many_ more brilliant ones after that so don’t get lazy.”

As they made their way through the vestibule, Ron whistled low. “This is some place. I expect you know loads about it.”

“A bit.” He was goading her, she could tell, but she couldn’t resist showing off a little. “It was built in the Anglo Saxon period, then extended in the 1100’s. It has changed repeatedly over the years- for example the spire was replaced by a wooden cupola- but some of the earliest brickwork is still visible at the rear of the building. It was taken under conservation around ten years ago to protect the remaining medieval mural and some of the tilework. It hasn’t been used as a church since the 1800’s but it has been restored and now they use it for theatre, sometimes workshops, things like that.”

Ron squeezed her hand. “You know a lot about this village.”

She smiled. “There’s a book- Twain: A History. I’ll lend it to you sometime if you like.”

“Great. I hope it’s a good thick book. My bedside table has been wonky for ages- it could do with some propping up.”

Hermione made a face as they took their seats. The stage was set up where the altar and choir had once been with an auditorium stand of chairs placed in front. As they sat, Hermione caught sight of George and Angelina walking into the church. Presumably it was George; the outfit was similar to Ron’s, the only real difference was the giant mouse head he was wearing. A group of local children ran up to him and started pulling at him, imploring him to search his pockets for any remaining sweets he might have.

“Looks like you bagged the better outfit. I wouldn’t fancy being trapped in that big head.”

“Oh George wanted to be the Mouse King,” Ron replied, removing his own hat and gesturing at Angelina to join them, “He’s been waiting for weeks to get that thing on.”

Hermione felt a wobble of nervousness as Ron’s brother and girlfriend approached, which was only mildly eased when they all said polite hellos and she was introduced formally to Angelina, who seemed friendly and warm. She and Ron weren’t official were they? Less than two months ago an entirely different girl had been in this foursome, potentially someone Angelina and George really liked. Maybe they were sad or annoyed that Ron hadn’t got back together with his ex. Maybe they thought it was too soon for him to be seeing someone else. Maybe…

Hermione shook her head and attempted to stop her thoughts spiralling out of control. She couldn’t think like that, always second guessing herself, always looking for the trapdoor. Ron liked her, she liked him and whatever came after that would be what it was.

She tuned back into the conversation. “You know, you are going to have to take the head off before the show starts,“ Angelina was saying, rapping lightly on the side.

“Shan’t,” came the muffled reply.

“But I brought Maltesers,” Angelina said, jiggling the bag, “You can’t have any if you don’t.”

George paused for a moment as if considering her offer. Reluctantly he popped the mouse head off and cuddled it on his knee. “Feed me woman. Hi, Hermione.”

She had just enough time to whisper a hello before the lights dimmed and performance started. Hermione had seen the Nutcracker several times before but it never got old. Every so often she sneaked a peek at Ron to check he wasn’t finding the whole thing really dull but his eyes didn’t leave the stage and during the interval he swore he was having a good time. As Clara waved her goodbye to the Land of Sweets and the music faded, everyone stood and applauded voraciously.

George immediately replaced his mouse head and pulled Ron’s hat back on. “Keeping up appearances Ronikins,” he hooted as he dragged Angelina down to a gaggle of children who were staring up at him, eyes agog. It took Ron and Hermione fifteen minutes to leave the church as people stopped them to take pictures and congratulate them on the Festive Trail.

When they eventually got outside the temperature had dropped by another degree and the sweat they had worked up in their respective shops and during the ballet now clung coldly to their skin. Walking as quickly as they dared, they made their way through the village, taking animatedly about the ballet and the success of their joint venture. By the time they reached Hermione’s front door, the chill had really set in and she was in no doubt now about her next move.

“Will you come in for a while? I left the fire going so it should be warm.” _Oh God, if he rejects me I’ll die. _

Ron hesitated a moment before answering and it felt like the longest moment in history. “Yeah,” he responded eventually, “I definitely want to do that.”

Inside, Hermione settled him on the rug next to the fire and ladled them mugs of the mulled wine she had brewed earlier, in hopeful anticipation of this exact situation. It was only a minor lie to say her mother had foisted it on her and he was doing her a favour by helping drink it.

Their first cup was drunk over discussion about the businesses; how Ron was finally sleeping better due to improved sales and online interest, how Hermione had been looking into expanding her knowledge with further qualifications.

Their second cup was dedicated to relating their plans for Christmas; Hermione would spend Christmas and New Year as she always did with her parents and extended family in Twain, Ron would return to Ottery St Catchpole for the massive Weasley Christmas his mother had planned, returning just after New Year to reopen to shop in time for the January sales.

By their third cup, Hermione was feeling pleasantly woozy and noted with pleasure that Ron’s arm was slung along her shoulders, where their backs rested against the sofa. He turned his mouth towards her and she felt his breath warm on her ear as he spoke. “This is powerful stuff Miss Granger, your mother makes it strong.” Hermione made a mental note to never allow Ron to bring up her mother’s mulled wine recipe in her presence. “Are you trying to get me drunk or is this just a happy by-product?”

Hermione set down her cup, all mock astonishment. “I can assure you Mr. Weasley, a lady would never try to get a man drunk. Are you suggesting I’m inebriating you in an attempt to take advantage of you?”

Ron laughed softly. “Oh God, I hope so.” Ever so lightly he bit on her earlobe which sent an electric shock that was anything but light down her neck. Dragging his teeth over the tender flesh, Ron then punctuated it with a kiss, before forming a chain of kisses down the side of her throat. Hermione tilted her chin, extended her neck, hoping to prolong the sensation and when he reached her clavicle, she turned towards him and captured his mouth with hers.

If their first kiss had been sherbet; their second was syrup. They kissed with the unhurriedness of two people who understood they had the time to take. Mere moments into it, Hermione had rocked into his lap, thighs clenching his hips either side. The thinness of his trousers betrayed his growing erection pressing against her and somewhere, far off in her mind, Hermione recalled how she had known those bloody trousers would be the undoing of her from the very start.

The little stubble that peppered Ron’s cheeks felt coarse under the pads of her fingers as she grazed his face, deepening their kiss if that was even possible, inching herself closer to him on her knees until their bodies were pressed against each other so tightly there was no wiggle room left. The sensation of her resting on his crotch made Ron moan into her mouth and his hands slid down her back to cup the swell of her arse through swathes of purple satin and netting.

Hermione was conscious of many things at once as they kissed; the warmth of the fire on the exposed skin above her bodice, the wine-induced hum in her ears, the hot, wet yield between her legs in contrast to the firmness of Ron against her. Her head was swimming with it all. Ron’s mouth left hers and moved along her jaw, delicately nibbling the skin until he reached her ear again.

“Jesus woman,” he murmured into her hair, “I never thought the nice little jewellery girl from downstairs could kiss like that.” He sounded short of breath.

Hermione sat back on her heels and pulled her top back up to cover a more respectable amount of bosom. “Told you I have had practice. Though you clearly have done your fair share too.” His painted cheek circles were smudged where she had pawed at him hungrily, his mouth a little swollen in the amber light of the fire. He regarded her through heavy eyes, his eyelids lazily low.

“You should see yourself all backlit by the fire.” He grabbed a fistful of her curls. “You look like the Fairy Queen.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Is that a good thing?”

He smiled dozily and replied, “It’s gorgeous. You look gorgeous.” She smiled self-consciously in response, unused to such easy compliments. Of course boyfriends over the years had told her she was pretty, sometimes they had even told her she was sexy. But it had always felt hard work, sometimes she wanted to hear it so much she practically goaded them into saying something nice. Ron was unrestricted in his compliments, he just came right out with it. He sat up now, steadying her on his lap with his hands. “I think this is going to be good Hermione. Don’t you think?”

The Hermione of old would have coquettishly side-stepped the question, answering with a leading ‘what’s going to be good?’ in some twisted attempt to get him to elaborate, to be truly _sure_ what he meant. It was as though she expected men to cut rings round her and be deceptive somehow. Maybe this was the type of men she had always dated. Men who were hard work. Men like her. Ron, though, he made her feel secure, as though she was no longer walking a tightrope. She made a decision there and then to honour that. “Yes. I think it’s going to be good.”

He grinned up at her and pulled her towards him again. The second his lips hit hers, her phone trilled sharply, snapping open the cosy moment at high pitch. Groaning, Hermione reached for her puffball bag, tossing aside the plastic jewels still trapped in there and checked the caller.

“Mark. Not a great time.”

“Get your arse up to the hospital. Wilhelm had a fall.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Guys! I am so sorry this is late. I’ve had a chest infection so all week I have felt like I’ve been put together wrongly and I completely missed Sunday good vibes. Remiss of me as we are just getting to the juicy stuff. **

**Anyway, what has been happening since Mark broke up the cosy snogging party? It’s January and the garnets are in charge. A little bit more saucy this chapter but nothing you can’t handle. I hope you like it.**

**JANUARY/GARNET**

**Garnets are generally considered representative of faith, honesty and truth. The legends surrounding garnets paint a very mixed picture however. In one respect, bullets were made out of garnet in ancient Asia as it was thought to cause more suffering and wounding. On the other hand, it is said that Noah used garnet to light the Ark during the dark and wet weather which is why people give garnet to a beloved before a trip- ensuring the bond between them is not broken.**

Blearily Hermione opened the shop. Today her bones felt old and her head heavy. She had always quite looked forward to January- as a month it was representative of fresh starts, resolutions, order and re-establishment of routine- all things Hermione revelled in. However, this was usually more welcome after a hedonistic Christmas and New Year, when everyone relaxed and let go. The past Christmas had been somewhat different and instead of feeling refreshed and ready to attack, she felt spent and low on fuel.

When she’d arrived at the hospital- Ron in tow because he refused to let her go alone- Mark hadn’t really been able to give her a lot of useful information. All he was able to say was that Wilhelm had fallen in the shop and had phoned him to help him get back up. When they realised that would be impossible, that there was something seriously wrong with his leg, Mark had phoned for an ambulance. When Hermione admonished him for not ringing her sooner, Mark was defensive. “He told me not to. He’ll tear me a new one when he sees you’re here.”

Angrily confused about why this would be the case, Hermione marched in to where Wilhelm was resting on a hospital bed behind a screen. The sight of his wan complexion made her stop, anger quelled.

“I did tell Mark not to contact you Hermione.” Wilhelm looked pained.

She was at his side in an instant, gaze flicking over him, taking in the graze and developing bruise on his temple and the awkward position he reclined in. “Why would you do that? Imagine ringing Mark before me. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

He smiled weakly. “Don’t be offended, dear heart. I didn’t want to interrupt your big night.” He looked round her to where Ron stood next to Mark. “And I clearly did. I do apologise.”

Hermione cast a quick glance over her shoulder and then back to him. “Nonsense. This is much more important. Now what has the doctor said?”

It had been comforting to assume her ‘In Charge Hermione’ persona that night and every day since. Having established that Wilhelm had dislocated his left hip and sprained his wrist, Hermione set about finding out treatment plans, bossily instructing nurses on pain relief and ordering Mark to drive to Wilhelm’s house for an overnight bag. Despite her telling him repeatedly to go home, Ron stayed by her side, bringing cups of coffee and shooting the staff sympathetic looks he thought she couldn’t see. It was soothing having him there, even more so because he hung back, as if instinctively knowing not to try to take the lead on any decision making. As if he understood the only way she could deal with the shock and upset of Wilhelm’s injury was to hog all the control like a greedy despot. 

Christmas had passed in a daze. The Weasleys left for Ottery St Catchpole, Ron reluctantly kissing her goodbye. In truth Hermione had barely time to register his absence, let alone pine for him. She was up with Wilhelm every day after his brief stay in hospital, administering medication, preparing meals and bringing them to his bedside. The dislocation healed well thanks to early manipulation, ice and rest and Wilhelm was able to attend the Granger family Christmas albeit heavily dependent on a crutch. True to form, the ugliness of the NHS walking aid was more of an irritant to him than the injury and he soon swapped it for a slim, deep red cane.

By the time it came round to reopening the Snitch, Wilhelm had recovered well, much quicker than the doctor had expected him to. “It was the turquoise,” he would tell anyone who would listen, “It had been looking a bit peaky, I knew something was up!” Normally at this point in the conversation, people would nod politely, a kindly expression on their faces as if hoping the delirium wouldn’t last much longer for the poor old chap. Then he would reveal it, curled into his palm, the large, opulent turquoise now liberated from the ring and broken neatly in half. “It took the break, you see? A gentleman of my years shouldn’t have escaped such a fall without fracturing something, wouldn’t you agree?” Hesitantly, visitors would concur that yes, he had been lucky. “Luck!” Wilhelm bellowed as he heard the same response repeatedly, “It was not luck that saved me.”

He would nod and wink at Hermione; for weren’t they two conspirators who knew much more than these folk? Hermione indulged him, thankful for whatever it was that _had_ saved him and thankful too for his quick recovery, for the daily errands he had her run, shopping he made her collect, items he asked her to fetch were starting to wear her down.

It had been a frosty Christmas and it looked set to be a soggy January. Biblical rain swept through the street outside, grey spikes against an already dark morning. Even the toasty gold lighting of the shop did very little to drive out the gloom and as Hermione hugged her mug to her chest, feeling the steam lick at her chin, she thought about Ron. It would another three days before the brothers were set to return, opening the shop on Friday and starting their post-Christmas sale and now that Wilhelm needed her less, she had more time miss Ron's presence. They had text a bit over the holiday, although not as much as she anticipated they would. Rationally Hermione knew Christmas was a busy time, especially for such a huge family like the Weasleys so on the two or three occasions when she caught herself wondering idly if Ron’s ex-girlfriend also lived in Ottery St Catchpole she gave herself a mental slap.

She contemplated the box on the floor that had arrived this morning with a drenched delivery driver. Special overnight service from America, probably from Wilhelm’s friend Beau who dealt in fine pieces and often forwarded items to be sold through the Golden Snitch. The cardboard was wet and she didn’t relish the prospect of dealing with it. Still, it looked to be a quiet day ahead and it would break the monotony.

Thirty minutes later and recently joined by Mark who had brought a current cake with cinnamon icing, she was staring at a chess set. The black and white marble board was marked out with fine golden grid lines and each piece was intricately carved out of red and green gemstone.

“Did Beau send this?”

“Erm yeah. For the exhibit thingy at the museum. Wilhelm asked Beau to lend him something from his collection,” Mark responded through a mouthful of cake.

“Beautiful.” Hermione delicately examined a rook, each tiny brick etched in, frowning when Mark coughed and spluttered crumbs nearby.

“So did you think any more about taking on the Snitch when Wilhelm retires?”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “No. No one has asked me to do that. It’s just you, making things up.”

Mark scoffed and swallowed. “Hardly. If anything I would have thought what happened before Christmas was a clear sign. He’s not going to be able to go on like this forever Hermione. That fall could have been so much worse.”

Any lift in her mood that the arrival of the chess set had caused was snatched from her again. Mark was right, of course, it could have been worse. Wilhelm could have been knocked unconscious or had a heart attack alone in the shop. Her stomach twisted uneasily at the thought and the nauseous feeling stayed with her throughout the day and into the next. Wilhelm’s announcement that he would be staying home for the rest of the week did nothing to alleviate it and by Friday she had worked herself into a frenzy worrying about the whole situation.

She was early to open, wanting to be there when Weasley’s Wonders opened their doors and when she saw a flash of ginger hair streak past the window out of the corner of her eye, her heart soared. It dropped again when George came barrelling through the door wearing a chunky knitted jumper with a capital G worked into it. “Morning!”

“Hi George. Nice jumper.”

George nodded, clearly long suffering. “Mum makes them for us every year You’ll get used to it. If you ever get your arse down to Ottery St Catchpole don’t stand around too long or she’ll be measuring you up for one.”

The thought of Ron’s Mum making her a jumper gave Hermione a shot of joy- the first shot she had felt in quite a while- and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh it’s all smiles now but that’s just because it’s a novelty. Imagine wearing a jumper made of wool that has been many different jumpers over the years. Mum hates waste, she breaks them down every so often to make new ones. Itchy doesn’t cover it. How’s Wilhelm?”

She regaled George with Wilhelm’s speedy recovery before he made his excuses to go and open Weasley’s Wonders. Hermione itched to ask about Ron, her fingers drummed against the counter as George opened the door, a rain splattered gale swooping in. “Settle down Princess,” he said turning back, “Prince Charming will be back tomorrow. You can contain yourself until then can’t you?”

She looked at him blankly. “No idea what you mean.” George cackled and left her alone.

Saturday morning dawned as grey as nails, the mini typhoon that seemed to have struck Twain worsening, if that were possible. Rain spat against the glass spitefully as Hermione discussed diamond tennis bracelets with a couple from California. It was unusual to make an expensive sale so near Christmas with a customer from the street but they were keen to buy one for each of their goddaughters and Hermione knew Wilhelm would be pleased with the income.

“I would have preferred platinum. Don’t you have any set in platinum?” The woman looked at her expectantly.

“No, we only stock this particular bracelet in white gold. I can order it in but since you are here on holiday…”

“Not a holiday!” her husband objected loudly, as though it was offensive to even suggest such a thing. “Miriam’s parents live near here and we were with them for Christmas. Too old now to make the journey to us although if you lived with this weather, wouldn’t you walk on broken legs to get away from it?” This time both of them looked at her expectantly.

What she felt like saying was ‘Piss off and leave me alone’. What she actually said was, “Good old British weather. Are we going with the white gold then?”

Four boxed bracelets and the healthy tap of a credit card later, the Californians exited the shop as Ron Weasley walked into it brandishing a lemon coloured box.

“Cupcake? Freshly iced by Imelda herself?”

“Dragged yourself back to work eventually have you?” she teased, accepting the box and walking through to boil the kettle. Ron followed her and threw himself into a chair by the table.

“Yep. Hard going though. Once I was home and had Mum cooking for me I didn’t want to leave. Me and George did rock, paper, scissors to see who would come to open the shop yesterday. I won, first time ever. Bought me one more day getting fed and watered but now I’m back, ready to go!” He looked up at her as she set out mugs. “Woah. You look knackered.”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t think you are meant to say that to women. It gives them a complex. I’m fine really. Just been looking after Wilhelm and running the shop. He’s a handful.”

“Yeah I can imagine,” Ron replied, reaching for her hand and pulling her over to where he sat. Carefully he turned her by the hip and set her onto his knee, drawing her closer to him until she was encircled by his arms. Hermione, feeling instantly foolish, avoided his eye. “Hey.” She raised her gaze. “You don’t need to put on the big front with me. You’re tired, it’s understandable, you didn’t get to relax at Christmas, you’re worn out. Cut yourself some slack ok?”

She nodded once and Ron reached behind her, gently removed the casing from a cupcake and held it to her mouth. “Bite.” Obediently she did as he said, instantly gratified by sugar frosting. He fed her the cupcake piece by piece until it was all gone and he licked the crumbs off his finger. “Better?” She nodded again. “Good. Now get off my knee.”

“Too heavy?” she asked, standing up.

“Nope, I just really fancy you in that skirt and I have to sell toys to kids today. I don’t need a massive boner when I’m doing it.” As it registered what he said, he leant down and kissed her smartly on the lips. “Dinner at mine tonight? George is going out.”

_Oh. God. Yes._

“I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

Ron rolled his eyes and groaned. “Women! Always playing hard to get! Be ready at half five. Don’t change out of that skirt.” He flashed her a grin as he left.

A sensible woman like Hermione would never describe herself as ‘walking on air’ or any of that romantic nonsense but, was it just her, or did the day suddenly seem _brighter_ than before? Perhaps the dull monotony of the sky was mellowing into a dove grey. The rain certainly seemed to be easing off and even the wind that had been blasting against her window all week seemed to have had taken a breather. Most definitely brighter.

She had no intention of wearing her work skirt for dinner and resolved to dash home just before closing to change into something infinitely more attractive. Despite her determination, however, the time she needed just didn’t materialise, what with Margot ringing in sick and Mark doing another of his disappearing acts. Wilhelm rang her from home, excited at the arrival of the chess set, making her promise she would bring it to his house first thing tomorrow morning.

“Tomorrow is Sunday Wilhelm,” she intoned, unnecessarily because she knew he wouldn’t care.

“Any time after nine is fine Hermione. I want to examine it before it is collected.” Which meant any time after 09:15 was not fine.

Precisely at five, she slapped over the closed sign and attempted to make herself look irresistible with the limited makeup supplies in her handbag. Her hair was sulking from not getting nearly enough attention lately so she pinned it up into a high top knot where it couldn’t get in anyone’s way and pinched her cheeks in the mirror to make them rosier. She was just squinting critically in the little bathroom mirror one last time when she heard the door chime and then Ron was there and it didn’t matter anymore.

They walked through the village swiftly, making the most of a break in the rain. Over the little stone bridge that traversed the stream and up the lane towards the row of red brick properties where the Weasleys lived. When Ron had described the house, of course Hermione knew where it was; once or twice she had walked the completely wrong way home so she could pass it. It was owned by the gin-making Eddings sisters, once inhabited by their brother and now rented out on long term contracts. Its sunny peppermint coloured door was cheery in the dark and Ron bundled her quickly into the hall to get out of the cold.

As they entered the living room Hermione looked around for somewhere to set the box containing the chess set, opting to bring it home with her to allow maximum Sunday lie in time tomorrow morning. She settled for a long honey-coloured wooden table, next to a laptop and sheaves of haphazard paperwork. Ron lit the fire and instructed her to settle on the sofa while he warmed up dinner. As she listened to him clattering around, humming something out of tune, Hermione knew she wasn’t expecting much in the way of food so she was delighted when he produced elongated noodle bowls filled with homemade ramen.

“Did you make this?” She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice, twiddling noodles with her fork and glad he hadn’t offered her chopsticks.

“Don’t sound so shocked. My mum is an excellent cook and she taught us all. I think her greatest shame would be if we couldn’t make dinner for ourselves.” He poured them deep, generous glasses of red wine and they sat next to each other in relative silence as they ate. It was, Hermione thought to herself, more comfortable than it should have been with someone she had only known for a few short months, but then that was the thing about Ron. He made it feel easy.

Ramen devoured, Hermione tucked her legs up onto the sofa next to her and leant back into the cushions as Ron poured more wine and asked her about her day. They talked for a while, staring into the bewitching dance of the fire, progressively moving closer to each other until somehow her leg was draped over his.

"Whacha got in the box there honeybee?" Ron drawled, jerking his head toward the table and toying with a curl resting against her cheek.

"A chess set. It's destined for the museum tomorrow but Wilhelm wants to look it over before the courier collects it."

Ro's eyes lit up. "A chess set? Really?" She nodded. "I love chess. Can you play?"

Hermione grimaced. "I used to be able to, I mean my dad loves to play and he taught me but I'm out of practice. It's been a long time."

"I'll go easy on you," Ron replied, already on his feet and handling the box, cosy embrace forgotten.

"We can't play on this one!" she admonished, "That thing is worth thousands. It's going to a _museum_. Don't you have your own set?"

Ron shrugged and picked at the flap on the shipping container. "Didn't make it in the move. Bugged the hell out of me at first but I've been kinda distracted lately so I guess I forgot." He smirked down at her. "Can we at least look at it?"

Hermione intended to tell him that no, they definitely couldn't but actually, on reflection, she found she didn't care that much. Damn the wine. _Damn the Weasley._

"Yes alright. Be gentle."

He had already lifted the square cherry wood box out of the cardboard by the time she had finished speaking. Hermione lowered herself to the floor and Ron knelt, placing it in front of them. Delicately he opened the lid and a strangled exhale escaped his lips as he lightly brushed his hand over the surface of the board, tracing the gold squares. Once he had extracted the board and set it on the rug, he began reverently removing the pieces one by one, stopping to examine each in the light of the fire, before positioning them in their rightful places.

Only when the board was complete did he speak. "Bloody hell. This is.... nice."

Hermione felt herself smile at his innocent adoration. "Wilhelm's friend collects unusual items. Sometimes he sells them and sometimes he just loans them so other people can appreciate them. This is definitely only on loan."

Ron set a finger atop the red bishop. "What is he made from?"

"Garnet. Each piece is carved out of a single stone."

He moved to the green king. "And this one?"

"Also garnet. People think of garnet as a red stone but actually it comes in a variety of colours. Although this green is very rare to see. Probably why it's so valuable."

"How much?"

Hermione pouted a little. "More than I make in a year. But some things are worth it."

She caught Ron's eye and for a moment he didn't respond. Then a wicked look came over his face. "What?"

"Have you ever played strip chess?" He spoke with a low murmur but she heard him clearly.

"Absolutely not." Ron was toying with one of the pieces now, biting his lip. "Don't even think about it Ron Weasley. This board.... it would be sacrilegious. I can't believe a chess lover like you would suggest such a travesty."

"The travesty," Ron purred, "Is letting a chess board as gorgeous as this go unplayed. I bet no one has played chess on this- too scared because it's so valuable. This chess board has never fulfilled its destiny Hermione. It needs to see play."

Oh God his voice was so persuasive, like honey dripping into her ear. "But.... Does it have to be strip chess? Can't we just play normal chess?"

Ron grinned that half grin again. "It's Saturday night Hermione. Live a little."

Forty five minutes and two more glasses of wine later, Hermione was glad she had dressed herself so warmly that morning. Ron was an accomplished chess player and was quickly and efficiently divesting her of her clothing. She had taken an early lead, taking his bishop which earned her a sock, swiftly followed by his rook. The rook was taken by her pawn which entitled her to two pieces of clothing instead of one so she claimed the second sock and Ron's jumper.

Silently congratulating herself on being better at chess than she remembered had been Hermione's downfall. That and she was starting to believe he was hustling her. Once the jumper was off, Ron seemed to sharpen and abruptly the whole game changed. First she had lost her little black jacket, almost instantly followed by her wool tank top and the skinny belt looped through the waistband of her skirt. Reluctantly she was forced to remove her tights next until she found herself kneeling in Ron's living room wearing nothing more than a skirt and white shirt.

"Shirt please," Ron said now, snatching her bishop from the board.

"What? How the hell?" Hermione stared at the board, befuddled. "How did you do that?"

Ron laughed and took a swallow of wine. "A great master never tells. Now I want that shirt."

Hermione wet her lips as she unfastened the little pearly buttons. "I think that you've been playing me Ron. Pretending to be terrible at this so I would think I stood a chance. You can have the shirt unbuttoned but that's as far as I'll go this time. I'm running out of clothes to remove. Now," she straightened, knees pulled primly underneath her, "Shhh because I need to concentrate."

It was a hopeless situation really and she knew it. Being this close to Ron semi clothed was shattering her focus. It made her think about the last time they had been together in front of a fire; that long, slow, delicious kiss, him fluffing her hair and telling her looked gorgeous. Every time she looked at the board, red decimated by green, her vision swam with the recall of his hand trailing down her back and groping her arse through the netted skirt.

"D'ya need a hand?" a voice whispered in her ear. Starting, she found Ron kneeling next to her and winced at his choice of words given her uppermost thought right now.

"No thank you. You'll only advise me to do something that will help you win." Her voice was thick and she cleared her throat.

Ron chuckled a little. "Honestly, I don't think you need any help losing. Let me help you."

Hermione blinked and stared down again. "Not a chance."

"Ok...." Ron trailed off and brushed the fallen tendrils of hair behind her ear. Sliding a finger under her collar, he tugged gently, exposing her shoulder. He pressed his lips to the skin next to her bra strap.

"You won't distract me, you know," Hermione muttered, trying to avoid her body acknowledging how good that felt. "Tell me something about chess while I figure this out."

"Like what?" His voice was dangerously close to her ear.

"What's your favourite piece to play with?" Minutely she adjusted her position to relieve the pressure on her wet knickers.

As she determinedly bored holes in the chess board with her eyes, Hermione felt Ron run a finger across the back of her neck, creating a line of goosebumps and releasing the shirt from her other shoulder. The material slid down her upper arms and pooled at her lower back.

"Knight," he mumbled, running a fingertip along the soft skin above the band of her bra, over the hooks and eyes and down the slight hollow of her spine to where her shirt was bunched. "The knight can move right from the start because it can jump over the other pieces. It gets into the battle early." Lazily the fingertip moved back up, more goosebumps in its wake, to her bra strap. "The board can get messy and crowded and the knight just becomes more powerful." This time when he kissed her shoulder he incorporated the graze of his teeth.

Hermione felt her eyes roll slightly and gave her head a shake. "Not happening Weasley."

"Really." Not a question but a statement. The finger that had been resting idly on her bra strap now curled decisively under it and with a small movement, eased it onto her arm. Hermione felt her breast drop heavily and it took every ounce of stubbornness she had not to whimper and press herself against him. It was a matter of principle now, she couldn't let him beat her just because she was horny.

"Nope. I'm concentrating on kicking your arse."

"Mmhmm. Please carry on concentrating. I love it on you. That little frown line on your forehead..." Employing all four fingers now, Ron ran the backs of them down her arm and over the lace cup of her bra, her nipple already erect and now painfully aware of the contact.

Hermione felt her stomach muscles clench involuntarily and attempted to take her mind off it by reaching out to touch the crown of her king. "Taking the piss out of me will not help your case."

"I'm serious"- knuckles moving back and forward over the tender nub- "It is hot watching you think"- breath lifting the downy hair at the nape of her neck- "Decision making Hermione is my favourite Hermione."

She inhaled sharply and looked at him, unable to stop herself now. "You like them bossy then? Girls?"

His gaze flicked to the side and then back to her. "I dunno about girls but I like you bossy."

She frowned. "Really?"

He was staring at her mouth now, her nipple squealing with the sweet ache. "You remember when you sold that ring to the couple who had changed their minds? The big red one?" She nodded faintly. "Let's just say watching you be big boss lady was quite arousing. Very arousing actually." He shifted and straightened, never ceasing his teasing of her breast but now his face was closer to hers, right hand at the base of her spine.

He smelt like red wine and heat and Hermione unwittingly leaned into him. “You really think I’m hot?”

Trailing his hand up her back, he used it to sweep the escaped hair from her neck, dipped his head against it and kissed the skin just below her ear. “Scalding.”

Their mouths mashed roughly together and Hermione felt Ron’s tongue push against hers, his need for her apparent. They knelt next to each other, aggressively clawing at each other until it wasn’t enough. With a swipe of his forearm Ron cleared the chess board, pieces tumbling over the floor and rolling under chairs and pushed Hermione down onto it, never breaking the kiss. The marble was icy through her shirt and she hissed, arching her back away from it, Ron taking advantage of all the bare skin on show to kiss down her neck and chest and hungrily mouth the softness of her belly. With one hand on the back of her neck, the other travelled up the space between her and the board and deftly unclipped her bra.

The lace scratched as Ron slid his hand inside the cup and ran a thumb over her nipple, eliciting a moan from Hermione who reached and pulled his face back to hers so she could kiss him again.

Kissing Ron wasn't quite like kissing anyone else. Of course the attention of his hands made the kiss better but it was more than that. It was like flipping the switches in a circuit box one by one until all the lights were on. That was it really, Ron felt like light. He reached into places Hermione hadn't felt were dark and made them glow.

Feeling brave and drunk with sexual bravado, Hermione pulled his t shirt over his head, scrunching his hair into her fist as he licked his way back down her body. She was vaguely aware that her skirt had slid up round her waist and then the thought evaporated as he nipped the pale, pliable skin of her inner thigh. Starting low, the sensation built as he worked his way up, one big hand gripping each hip bone. God it was phenomenal. Inching closer to where her legs meet....itching to buck her hips... little spikes of pain shooting pleasure across her pelvis... as his nose grazes the saturated cotton...

"Evening!" A bellow came from the general area behind her head and Hermione shot up, banging Ron's head with the flat of her hand as she did so.

"Ow!" Ron yelped as he struggled up, pulling Hermione towards him and pressing her body to his, protecting her modesty. She buried her face in his chest, fervently hoping that her shirt hadn't ridden up at the back.

"George what the actual fuck?" Despite his words, Ron didn't seem particularly angry or annoyed. Hermione, on the other hand, was mortified.

"Sorry little brother but we did say midnight. Hi Hermione. Enjoy dinner?"

"Hi George," came the muffled reply, "Yes, thank you." As she spoke Hermione tried to recall what the room had looked like before they had started kissing. Where, for example, were her tights? Oh God was he ever going to leave?

"I'll just retire upstairs then shall I? Pretend I'm not even here," George said finally and she heard the creak of the stairs.

She stayed where she was until she felt Ron's laugh vibrating through her. Pulling away she slapped his arm. "This is not funny Ron Weasley. Jesus. Do you think he saw..."

Ron cackled, throwing his head back. "Saw what? My head between your legs? Yes I'm absolutely certain he did."

"Oh God!" Hermione attempted to untangle herself so she could jump up and get dressed, as if somehow this would scrub George's memory, but Ron took hold of her wrists and held her.

"Where are you going? We're not finished."

She stared at him incredulously as she wiggled. "Are you serious? We can't.... George is upstairs. And he just...."

Ron looked nonplussed. "Caught us almost shagging? Yes that was regrettable. I definitely prefer actual shagging to almost shagging."

Hermione felt her mouth twist and she ceased the struggle. "As if I was going to sleep with you. On our first date."

Ron grinned and, kneeling between her legs, took her face in his hands, long fingers reaching into her hair. In treacherous automatic response her lips parted as though preparing for their next kiss and before she could snap them shut, Ron rewarded them with a light brush of his mouth.

"We'll call it 'check' then Miss Granger. And we'll concentrate on getting to 'checkmate' at a later date."

~

At nine am on Monday morning Hermione was locked in a daydream about the precise moment before George interrupted them. Open before her was a book about gemstones. The previous day Wilhelm had quizzed her about the properties of garnet as he examined the chess set which, mercifully, was none the worse for witnessing Saturday night's events. She had performed poorly and he had advised refreshing her knowledge.

Red headed boys were getting in the way of learning though. Just one red headed boy actually and of him, his hands and his mouth, her recall was perfect. A little too perfect really because it was making her head fuzzy and her body hum in a way that could only be sated by touch.

As Wilhelm bustled in behind her, clattering against the counter with his cane, Bogart running grumpily ahead, she returned her attention to the book and pointedly picked it up in his presence throughout the morning.

At 1pm she bounced through the Weasley's Wonders’ front door and up the stairs. Ron was alone in the shop, stacking little boxes of light up robots. She watched him from the door suddenly shy, as she always was when she saw him at work. It was like Professional Hermione couldn't be the Hermione that squirmed half naked on his rug just two nights ago. That thought alone sent a shiver through her.

"Hey!" Ron broke into her thought spiral, "Have you just been standing there watching me? 'Cos that's not weird at all."

"I was admiring the shop actually," she replied snootily, now casting her eyes around to avoid suspicion. "Looks great with the new stock."

Ron placed the last box precariously on the stack and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, we got some cool stuff in." He sounded rueful; not excited as she'd anticipated.

"What's wrong? You make it sound like a bad thing."

"No it's not. It has actually been going great. The investors want us to go to China in two weeks to discuss expansion..."

"China?" Hermione spluttered, "In two weeks?"

"Yeah, seems so." He nodded and leant against the counter. "George has a thing with Angelina so I will probably go alone. It's only a week." Her face must have betrayed her apprehension because suddenly his expression became soft. In two strides he was next to her, tilting her face up towards him with a finger under her chin. "Look at that wee pout. Anyone would think you were fond of me Hermione Granger."

She made a face. "My only concern is for your health and the close proximity of the trip. Are your vaccinations up to date?"

His face broke with laughter and he kissed the tip of her nose. "Ever practical. I'm sure I'll manage re: vaccinations. Will you miss me do you think?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I think I can manage without you for seven days Ron Weasley." _Unlikely_. "You don't occupy my every waking thought." _Generally untrue_. "I doubt I will even notice your absence." _Blatant lie._

"Well thank God for that. Can't have a little woman sitting at home crying for me." He glanced up at the clock. "Balls, I have a conference call to ring into. Call you later?"

Trying not to show how disappointed she was, Hermione backed towards the door. "You can but I might be out. Doing things."

"Playing hard to get again?"

"Not at all. I will _maybe_ speak to you later then," she replied.

"Oh I think you'll speak to me later." Ron smirked and, rounding the counter, threw over his shoulder, "I owe you an orgasm."

Mark’s head appeared around the side of the door as Hermione gasped. "Dear Jesus I did not need to hear that. Wilhelm wants you." She opened her mouth to speak. "No! I don't want to hear any more!" Pushing Mark out of the shop, she followed him down the stairs to the Snitch.

~

True to his word, Ron left for China twelve days later. As the day of his departure drew nearer, Hermione felt a sense of unease creep over her. It was the strangest sensation, a sucking sort of bleakness. At first, her rational brain told her she was simply mourning the loss of Ron’s luminosity, knowing she would face a week’s worth of murky, frigid winter days without it. But it was more than that. His leaving gnawed at her; even Wilhelm sensed something was awry.

“Perhaps we should offer Mr. Weasley something for his trip.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione was aware she was staring blankly out of the window again, as she had been intermittently through the week.

“A talisman. To keep him safe and bring him back.” He gestured to the recently acquired palm stone collection on the counter near the door. Hermione knew Ron didn’t put much faith in the properties of gemstones but this knowledge didn’t stop her from turning each stone over in her hand. Her exploration brought her to a deep red garnet stone, smooth and rounded. From all the extra reading Wilhelm had forced upon her, she recalled garnet was customarily given to those going to long trips to ensure they returned well. Perhaps it would also remind him of their impromptu chess game.

As predicted, Ron raised an eyebrow when she gave it to him but he tucked it into his pocket and told her he would set it on his bedside so that when he got up in the morning, he would be reminded of her, warm and asleep in her bed. As he kissed her goodbye, Hermione heart sat leaden in her chest. Something was wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

**We’re doing the double this week on account of my utter failure to post last Sunday. Thank you for all your good wishes, I’m feeling much better and I’m glad you are still enjoying the story.**

**Anyway Ron and Hermione- God love them! Every time they get close, someone spoils it and now Ron is in China! Will the amethysts give these two a break? Doubtful. Enjoy.**

**FEBRUARY/AMETHYST**

**In Greek mythology, Dionysus was insulted by a mortal and took his fury out on the maiden Amethyst, sending tigers to tear her apart. She was saved by Artemis, who turned her into a white quartz to protect her from harm. In his shame, Dionysus began to cry and his tears overturned his cup of wine, spilling it over the quartz and giving the stone its violet colour. It also gave amethyst the power to prevent intoxication and help the wearer keep a cool head. It is a gemstone associated with prophecy and visions, the removal of anything that clouds judgement and the overcoming of blind optimism. **

The bunting blew blissfully in the wind- mercifully the inclement weather of January had settled slightly so it didn’t take off up the green in a gale as many had anticipated. A small stage had been erected at one end with a boxy little catwalk stretching out in front for the vintage fashion parade. Margot was at the other end of the green directing Richard Granger in setting up the agility course for the dog show. For the past two weeks she had been cutting and stitching a cerise satin skirt to trim the judging table while simultaneously creating a new range of bows for her four standard poodles to wear on the day. Marla Phillips had dreamed up a special selection of Valentine’s cocktails to be served from a sweet little shack that had been set up in front of the pub, despite Pat feeling that nothing said ‘I love you’ more than a chilled pint of beer.

Cass had invested in as many shades of pink and red face paints as she could source from the internet and threatened to draw love hearts on everyone. She waved as Hermione walked past the green, heading to the Golden Snitch, a box of Imelda’s cookies tucked under her arm. When she reached the shiny black door Hermione noted with displeasure that the brass had become tarnished on the handle and knocker. Margot’s favourite job had taken a back seat in recent weeks to the beautifying of dogs. As she deposited the cookies on the table in front of Wilhelm and Mark, she muttered, “I’m just going to give the brass a quick shine on the door. Won’t be a minute.”

Quick as a flash, Wilhelm’s restraining hand grasped her upper arm. “Sit and have tea with us, dear heart. The brass will be always be there.”

Hermione dropped resignedly into a chair, pointedly ignoring the look that passed between Mark and Wilhelm. “I’ll be Mother,” Wilhelm smiled, pouring and straining the tea. As he set it in front of her, Mark broke a cookie in half and slid in onto her saucer, nestled against her cup. The men drank and ate in silence, no one mentioning her untouched serving which was honestly the most gratifying thing they could have done. She was embarrassed enough about how stupidly she was behaving and they had been good enough not to mention it in any great detail.

When Ron had phoned her from China three weeks ago he sounded so invigorated. Everything was going well, he had met with several new suppliers who would be able to provide merchandise that wasn’t widely available in the UK. It would give Weasley’s Wonders the edge over other, more established toy shops and their investors had been thrilled with the news. It was especially nice for George- this had been his dream and to see it finally realised so successfully made Ron happy. Hermione’s excitement for him, however, had been dampened when he announced he was staying for another week. One of the investors was going to be in Shanghai and she intended to meet with Ron while there.

“So you’ll have to survive without me for another week. Do you think you can do it?”

_No. Really don’t want to do that._

“Of course I can Big-head. Honestly the way you talk, I’m crying in my pillow every night.”

They had laughed like it was a crazy notion. Of course she wasn’t lying sobbing over the lack of him but it had been a disquieting week and, though she was loathe to admit it to herself, Hermione had found herself really pining for Ron’s return. She had become so accustomed to his cheery smile and flippant remarks. Also, perhaps most surprising of all, she really liked herself in his company. Validation was too strong a word for it- it was more like acceptance. That he liked her the way she was, that he accepted her in all her overbearing, domineering glory.

There had been times, in previous breakups, where Hermione had thought if she had just been a bit less herself, things might have worked out. An insane notion really because why should she not be herself? It was just that when you are lying in the dark at 3am wondering if you are ever going to meet someone, all sorts of madness occurs to you. Maybe you should tone down your fierce need to do everything yourself, no help from anyone. Maybe you should be a bit softer, a bit less ‘on’.

Her grandmother used to say that boys liked to feel needed and would it really do her any harm to play dumb once in a while? Her grandmother wasn’t much of a feminist and Hermione had instantly disregarded such advice. Still, it always came back to her when a relationship broke down, sickening an idea as it was. Was she just not the loveable kind?

And then Ron, bright sunny Ron, had come along and hadn’t he been a revelation? He actually liked her bossiness, went so far as to say it was a turn on. He didn’t question her decision to stay in Twain, working in the same shop all her life, he didn’t tell her she was wasting away. He had helped her feel even happier about who she was.

The second week of the China trip was worse than the first, probably because Hermione had been building herself up to seeing Ron and then had to let her foolish heart down. She had thrown herself into as many jobs as she could, both in work and at home, deciding at 9pm one evening to start repainting her living room walls. It was anything really, to take her mind off the situation and to speed up the week as it dragged on. On the day of his return she forced Suzy to go shopping with her to London, knowing he would be exhausted and not wanting to be sitting on her hands all day, waiting for a text.

On Tuesday morning she hovered at the front of the shop, having only had a brief conversation with Ron the night before in which he sounded shattered and said he would see her tomorrow for lunch. If Hermione had been hoping for a happy reunion it was not forthcoming. While Ron seemed pleased to see her he was subdued and tense. He picked at a hole in his jeans as they ate sandwiches on the green wrapped up against the wind, more preoccupied with making it bigger than holding any sort of meaningful conversation. Hermione’s first instinct was that somehow things had taken a turn for the worst since his initial, ecstatic phone call but every probing question she asked received a positive answer. Yes the investor face-to-face went well, she was impressed with the Weasleys’ work ethic. Yes, they intended to start importing from several of the suppliers he had met with. No, he couldn’t believe it himself, it was a wonderful achievement for the business.

She tried not to be alarmed when he confessed that he had misplaced the garnet palm stone she had given him during his first week in China.

"I'm sure it's probably in my suitcase somewhere," he offered, "Or maybe my washbag." Reminding herself that she really didn't believe in gemstone folklore, Hermione put Ron’s lack of sparkle down to jetlag, even when he refused to walk back with her to the shop because he had somewhere else to be. That night she reclined in the bath, the water scalding and up to her neck, going it over in her head. It was ridiculous to think she had caused this change in demeanor- they hadn’t seen each other for two weeks and they had separated in the midst of sexual innuendo and spark. What the hell was going on?

As the week dragged on, January blustering into February, losing the rain but retaining the icy gusts, Hermione quietly resolved to sit back and let things unfold. Wasn’t Wilhelm always chiding her for being too impatient, for not allowing a situation to come to fruition in its own time? So when Ron continued to be vague in person and MIA the rest of the time, she held her tongue and painted another two rooms in the house.

In keeping with the vintage theme of the Twain Valentine’s Weekend, Wilhelm had decorated the February window display in classic and rare pieces. One of the more beautiful additions was a collection of vintage minaudieres. On unpacking them, Hermione had immediately recognised some as Judith Leiber pieces, others looked older still. One particularly gorgeous example was a clutch shaped like a heart struck through with an arrow, studded with gold crystals and ruby and amethyst gemstones. It took pride of place in the centre of the display, a kitsch reminder that February was the month of love. As dazzling as it was, it made Hermione want to spit every time she caught herself staring at it, ostentatious and winking back at her.

The night before the Vintage Festival, she twisted and turned in bed, falling into an unsatisfying half sleep early on Saturday morning. This strange unconscious state gave rise to a disturbing dream in which she was trying to give Ron the heart shaped purse but he wouldn’t take it. It was so real she could feel the emerald carpet of the Snitch shift beneath her as she hopped from one foot to the other. But he had to take it, she kept saying, she wanted him to have it. Ron shook his head, staring absently out the window. This wasn’t what he had come for, he said sadly, and no amount of spotlight positioning was going to change his mind. The gemstones on the clutch spiked her fingertips as she clenched the heart to her. How had she got it so wrong? She was an expert at selling, she knew exactly what customers wanted; he wanted this, she was sure of it. Ron kept shaking his head, until he got angry and told her to sell it to someone else and leave him be.

The despair she felt broke her out of sleep and she sat up, still feeling the jagged little stones under her touch. It took a few minutes to return her breathing to normal, her heart hammering even as she lay back down. She was starting to feel crazy; she had never experienced this sort of behaviour in herself. Firstly having a mini breakdown when a man she liked went on a business trip and now have paranoid dreams about him. It was irrational and ridiculous and she would not entertain any more of it.

Wilhelm was, of course, completely in love with the heart minaudiere because it was flashy and undeniable and he took every opportunity to admire and caress it. He was still talking about it the morning of the Vintage Festival as he and Mark drank tea and ate cookies, sneaking glances at Hermione that she didn’t acknowledge.

“Beau wants to buy it of course but I’m under strict instructions from Meryl not to let it go to him. I think she would sell to the right person but she and Beau fell out years ago over a Hermes Kelly picnic bag and I don’t think she ever forgave him for outbidding her. More tea Hermione?” He gestured at the full cup and she shook her head. Weasley’s Wonders was already closed for the afternoon as they were running a stall at the Festival and Ron had commiserated with her that she was working until five. They made a tenuous arrangement to meet up when she closed the shop but Hermione didn’t hold out much hope of actually seeing Ron. So many of their plans had failed to materialize since he had returned from China.

So she was surprised when, at 5:15pm, Ron was waiting for her by the maypole. Even more so when he smiled and held out his hand and said, “Hey beautiful.” They walked together to Marla’s cocktail shack where he bought her a viscous crimson drink called ‘Black Heart’.

“Not very in keeping with the whole romance theme Marla. ‘Black Heart’.”

“Mmmm I know,” she replied, garnishing the glass with a tiny cupid atop a swizzle stick, “But I had a metric tonne of Crème Yvette in the back and this was the best recipe I could find online. One for you love?”

Ron looked at the punch bowl doubtfully. “Think I’ll stick to beer if that’s alright Marla.”

They stood together by the pub, swathes of people buzzing round them. Ron told her they had been busy all afternoon, word seemingly spreading about Weasley’s Wonders and he updated her on the day’s highlights, namely the dog agility demonstration which ended in disaster when Dr Foley’s border collie took off at great speed with the plastic tunnel and Lila Hathaway getting tiddly on pink gin and heckling a councilman she was in an ongoing war with about recycling.

“This place isn’t normal,” Ron finished, swigging from his glass.

“It’s quirky definitely,” she responded, her mouth full of syrupy cherry, “You’ll get used to it.” Ron inhaled sharply and then blew the air out quick. “What? What is it?”

He scratched his neck. “Oh hell Hermione I didn’t want to do this today.”

Her stomach dropped like a rock. She wanted to say something light and teasing, her mouth suddenly dry and not co-operating.

His eyes flicked around her, anywhere but her face. “It’s the investors. They want to open more Weasley’s Wonders, you know. They think that it could be more successful than we thought.”

He paused and she still couldn’t speak. There was more to this.

“Which is good, I mean it wouldn’t just be one little village toy shop. It could be a chain. That’s what the meeting was about in China, why I stayed longer. To be honest I wasn’t really sure about it but the people who gave George the startup money have a say in what happens to the business and they want to do this.”

Hermione stared at his face, willing him to look at her but he resolutely avoided her eyes.

“Me and George have been all over their proposals all week, literally just cutting it all up, seeing if it could work and the offer is generous. Too generous to turn down. George wants to go for it and I agreed.”

This was like water torture, tiny drops of information falling on her but never the whole thing. “What is it Ron?” Hermione rasped at last, unable to take it anymore.

He blew out a breath again. “We are going to open a new store in Edinburgh and George has asked me to move back there to set it up and run it.” The words came out in a tumble, racing over each other to get to the end of the sentence so it took Hermione a moment to reflect on what he had said. And it didn’t seem that bad.

“Okaaay,” she started, still waiting for the crunch, “So you’ll move to Edinburgh. That’s not very far away in the grand scheme of things.” She allowed herself a smile.

Ron did not smile and she felt hers fade on her face in response. Instead he stared out at the green, pint glass clenched so tightly in his hand his fingernails were white.

After a long pause he said, "It's far enough. Eight hours drive maybe. And I'm fairly sure it's going to be mayhem for a while... the shop is going to be larger than the one we have here, you know and I will be doing everything. Hiring staff, ordering stock, overseeing the fitting..." He tailed off and looked at her face as though desperate that she say something. Her face. Not her eyes. 

When she didn't speak, he started again. "Look, we've had this discussion haven't we? About long distance relationships. They don't work. Not that I'm saying this is a relationship but....you know what I mean." He looked at her again ruefully.

"Yes..."

"And you said never again didn't you?" he rushed on, "You said it wasn't worth it."

How could he be using what she had said in anger about Callum now? In what shitty karmic way was the world working today? A thought suddenly occurred to Hermione. "Why are you the one that has to go? Why not George?"

"George is.... happy here."

Hermione had never given much thought to her physical reaction to words but those four felt like a slap. "George is happy but you aren't?"

Her tone was chilly now as hurt crept into it.

"No! Shit, I didn't mean it to sound like that!" Ron held up his hand and then rubbed the side of his jaw. "I'm sorry I'm not explaining this very well. I am happy here and the time spent with you has been really fantastic.” _Spent. Has been. Past tense. _"But George... he has really enjoyed being here. Like, really found himself. After Fred died he couldn't get himself sorted, always working, never relaxing. Since we've come here, I dunno he's been _better._ Happier. I think he and Angelina might finally move in together."

Despite the utter chaos inside her head, Hermione couldn't hear anything of Ron in what he was saying, it was all about George and his wishes. It lit a small flame of hope inside her until Ron went on.

"And I do miss the City. It's noisy and overcrowded and there isn't a single square inch of clean air to be had but I dunno... We grew up in a place like this and I was always pushing to move out, saving my wages so I could buy my own flat. Edinburgh is such a great place; good nightlife, food, cultural stuff. Plus loads of my friends are there." Hermione kept her face neutral as he talked so that she wouldn't betray her feelings though the sudden hurt felt like it was splashed all over her expression.

Ron took a swallow of beer. "I thought when we moved here I would settle into it and that, you know, it might not even work out anyway..."

Hermione's temple throbbed. "So you were hoping Weasley's Wonders would fail so you could go back to Edinburgh?"

"No, I didn't mean that!" He looked exasperated. "What I meant was that George and I had no idea what we were doing opening a business, we hadn't done anything like this before. What were the chances that we were going to make it work? Even Mum thought we were mad. I mean, to set up in this random little village selling toys. Who does that?" He exhaled. "But it has worked and it's so much more successful than I ever thought. And this expansion..."

The air between them was heavy and clotted with words unsaid. Hermione fixated on a spot in the distance as far away as she could focus and held her gaze there. It was the unfairness of it that was wounding her. Why him, this one man whom she liked so much? Why did the Universe conspire to send him away and send others, like Callum, back?

"Well." His head snapped up. "I suppose there's nothing left to say. When do you go?"

"The investors want me to start looking at potential places in three weeks." To be fair to Ron he looked thoroughly miserable about the situation but any sympathy she might have felt for him was battered down by her hurt pride and indignation.

"Ok." She turned to him and downed the rest of her 'Black Heart'. "I wish you the very best of luck Ron." He opened his mouth as if to protest but she stopped him sharply. "No, I mean it. Thank you for being honest with me." Summoning all the courage she had, Hermione looked up into his face, pinched with anguish. For a brief moment she felt herself waver. Only for a moment. "I hope it works out in Edinburgh."

Leaving Ron by the pub, she stalked away, crossing the green, taking the back lanes to her house and only when she was pressing her back against the inside of her front door, did she breath properly again. She bit her lip, tearing at the fine skin as she stood in the hall, waiting for the fluttering in her chest to settle. When she eventually felt calmer, she pulled her phone from her pocket and invited Suzy over. She needed someone to talk this whole thing through, just to hear it all out loud.

With her best friend ensconced on the sofa and numerous bottles of wine uncorked throughout the evening, Hermione had expected to feel somewhat better, for the happy lift of alcohol to alter her mood. It was however, a hopeless case. The more she drank, the more sober she felt, even as Suzy began slurring at the end of sentences and stumbling on her way to the bathroom. They debated the pros and cons of Ron Weasley, Suzy becoming increasingly loud and boisterous and declaring Hermione had been wise to be cautious and that some men were just scared of commitment. She went as far as to suggest he was probably still in love with his ex-girlfriend.

After escorting her best friend home, Hermione walked through a darkened Twain thinking about their evening. In her sadly non-inebriated state she felt she could see things clearly. Ron was unhappy. Why he hadn’t been honest with her, she would never know. It wasn’t as if there had been a flurry of dates, for God’s sake they hadn’t even slept together yet. And she was a sensible, level-headed person. She was an adult. He didn’t have to lie to protect her feelings.

The thought that he obviously felt he did have to lie to her annoyed Hermione. It implied she was one of ‘those’ girls; a silly, fanciful female who couldn’t take the truth. He should have been man enough to tell her. Damn him, did he know her at all?

She plunged herself into a bath, despite it being the early hours of Sunday morning. The bath was where she did all her best thinking, the heat of the water rising exponentially with the amount of brain power she needed to apply to a topic. Tonight the water was scorching.

Rivulets of steam rose from the oily surface as she lay still beneath it. Something else uncovered itself too. A faint shadow of a nasty little feeling. That of shame. She tried to push it down, tried to wedge it underneath the indignation of being somehow hoodwinked by Ron.

She had been pretty awful to Ron earlier in the day, she could admit that to herself. They hadn't been dating long enough for her expect him to take her into consideration when life plans were being made. It was inadvisable for her to expect anything like that from him.

Suddenly shame opened the door, forced its way past her wounded pride and arranged itself on a soapbox.

_This is so typical of you Hermione. Rushing in, everything ablaze, forcing yourself on people._

She was always too much, her grandmother had been warning her for years. Nobody wanted her expectations weighing them down, especially someone like Ron: the epitome of lightness, buoyancy, breeze. Hadn’t she known he was literally just out of a relationship when he moved to Twain? It was too soon to started something new with her, she knew that. She should have been the sensible one and put a stop to it the minute she sensed something was happening between them. She definitely shouldn’t have given him the peridot keyring, then he wouldn’t have felt obliged to get her something for her birthday. And Wilhelm, he was probably filling his ear with nonsense about leading men and heroines, convincing Ron of all sorts of things.

No, if she had have kept a cool head, given him space in the aftermath of his breakup, then they wouldn’t have gotten so close and she wouldn’t feel as utterly miserable as she did right now.

The water was cool by the time Hermione lifted herself out of it and wrapped herself in a bathrobe. Her eyes were heavy but her mind continued to race on an unhappy loop, alternating between bashing Ron and bashing herself. She lay her head onto the pillow, wet strands of hair cold on her neck, and tried not to think about Ron Weasley.


	10. Chapter 10

**Good Sunday vibes to all. It’s March in Twain and Hermione’s ego has taken a hit. She’s feeling a bit battered so let’s hope the bloodstone can help revive her. As always, thank you for all your follows, comments and kudos. I look at each and every one with a little smiley face.**

**We celebrate Christmas in my corner of the world so I’m off to get my Santa hat on in preparation. Whatever you do at this time of year, I hope it is peaceful and happy. See you next week just before the start of a new year.**

**MARCH/ BLOODSTONE**

**Bloodstone is a type of chalcedony and appears in either opaque green or transparent red. It is a stone to help if you are wounded- it builds resilience, physical health and endurance. It is thought to have anticoagulant effects and blood purification properties. It is often used to ward off harm and give courage and is sometimes linked to successful business or legal matters.**

The final two weeks of February had been difficult, not least because Ron’s imminent departure had upset more than just Hermione. In an effort to manage her feelings on the subject, Hermione neglected to tell her colleagues in the Golden Snitch about Ron’s plans, hoping to buy herself some time to get used to the idea. It was, of course, a gargantuan mistake. Wilhelm, on hearing the news third hand from the Eddings sisters, immediately returned to the shop, determined to break it as gently to Hermione as possible. When he realised by her wary, resigned expression that she already knew, he became indignant that she hadn’t conveyed the knowledge.

“I know I should have told you,” Hermione said calmly, avoiding his eye and dusting round him, “But I only just found out myself. I needed time to process it.”

“But it’s me dear heart!” Wilhelm exclaimed dramatically, “You can always confide in me! All this work we’ve been putting into this boy and he’s going to leave. It’s vexing is all!”

He had disappeared into the office to mull the situation over and it had taken him three full days before he seemed to forgive her and come out of his tantrum. Anyone else would tell him to mind his own business but Hermione was used to it. Wilhelm’s intentions were good really, he wanted to her to be happy. She knew all this fuss was just because he had been hoping Ron might be ‘the leading man’. That and he hated being kept out of the loop of information.

As for Hermione, she congratulated herself on redeeming her bad behaviour with Ron at the festival. Although she had been careful to avoid running into him too often in the lead up to his departure, she had been polite on any occasion they did meet each other. She had even, though it had nearly killed her, attended the goodbye drinks George had thrown for Ron in The Saw and fortunately Fate had seen fit to be kind to her. It was a Saturday night, The Saw was heaving with sweaty bodies and half-sober villagers so there wasn’t the space or quiet to speak more than a few words to anyone. She stood with Mark for most of the hour that she stayed, occasionally catching Ron’s eye but surreptitiously moving around the room if the wave of people drew him closer to her. She chose to exit when George engaged Ron and a few surrounding people in a shot round, slipping out the door easily without being seen.

It was cowardly- she knew that- but she couldn’t bear to participate in the awkward conversation that was bound to take place if they were left alone together for any length of time. She could see it every time Ron looked at her in the weeks after his announcement. His glance didn’t fall on her by accident; it was purposeful, there was feeling behind it. It was as though each time their eyes met she could sense he was about to say something. Her best guess was that he felt unsettled about the way things had been left between them but honestly, she prayed for nothing more than for him to leave well alone.

Ron left for Scotland in the early hours of a Sunday morning so there was no scope for a big goodbye scene. The day before had been busy in The Snitch so the carefully laid plans Hermione had for disappearing into the office to do back-room duties fell apart spectacularly and she endured the back and forth of the Weasley brothers packing the car through the window, avoiding looking out with anything but the very corner of her eye. In a moment of weakness she considered asking Wilhelm if she could take the rest of the afternoon off but that felt like cheating somehow so she saw the whole work day through, glad when she could turn the ‘Closed’ sign on the door.

All evening she was caught between hoping Ron would call and being glad he didn’t and when she went to bed that night she was still undecided about how she felt about the fact that she hadn’t heard from him. The next morning before sunrise, rolling over in lightweight sleep, she might have heard what could have been the thrum of an engine as a car drove through Twain heading for the motorway and though she couldn’t really remember when she woke up, she thought she might have felt relieved.

March, in comparison to February, was easier somehow. Overnight George had turned Weasley’s Wonders into an Easter paradise, tying in with the usual Twain celebrations. It took Hermione’s brain a week or so to accustom itself to the fact that red hair bobbing past the window did not mean what it used to but surprisingly quickly, if a little ruefully, her brain taught her heart and it stopped jumping in her chest when George walked by. She even called up on her lunchbreak one breezy afternoon to admire the oversized rabbits, deep wicker baskets filled with pastel coloured trinkets and giant, glistening eggs. Foil balloons in the shape of chicks and lambs lightly bumped along the ceiling, strung with gaudy red ribbon, the space next to the till completely covered with large disc lollipops and sherbets in twists of cellophane.

“It’s wonderful George,” she exclaimed, fingering a bunny in an Easter bonnet, “You have done so well.” She cut _‘on your own’ _off the end of the sentence as she spoke.

George seemed to sense it. “Yeah. It’s been difficult to do it all in time. Angelina has been helping of course but Ron had a knack for pulling it all together. He kept me from going off on too wild a tangent.” He glanced back as a phone started drilling behind him and grimacing, turned to face her. “Plus, he way much better than me at dealing with the business side of things. S’cuse me Hermione.”

Wilhelm had, on the other hand, gone in a slightly different direction for the Snitch’s window. Several months previously he had become embroiled in a heated debate with a prudish councilman about whether or not Twain council had the right to veto any shop window they felt was inappropriate or ‘not in keeping with the village aesthetic’. Wilhelm, of course, erred on the side of the shopkeepers and had obviously decided that March was the month to make his point clear by erecting a large statue of Ishtar in the window. Rendered from bloodstone, she was gloriously indecent: full bellied, wide, undulating hips, unashamedly naked bar an intricately carved headpiece. At her side stood an aquamarine lion, head thrown back in a roar and around them were draped various deep, moody-coloured jewellery pieces Wilhelm had specially selected. Mark had just finished suspending the last of some gold and silver stars from the ceiling inside the shop when Hermione arrived for work on the first of March. The sight of Ishtar boldly on display brought her to a sharp stop outside.

“What. The….”

“Hermione!” Wilhelm blustered out through the door, clearly delighted by her reaction, “Do you love it?”

Catching her breath, she examined the spectacle. “Where did this come from?”

“Isn’t she marvellous? Jean-Pierre shipped her to me in December. What a piece!”

“December? You’ve been planning this for a while.”

Wilhelm nodded, a slow, supercilious smile spreading over his face. “Indeed I have. I have been anticipating Foxcroft’s reaction. Pompous old blow-in. Who is he to question the creative artistry of Twain?” He was obvious in his glee. “Yes, I think Ishtar will send just the right message.”

“And the lion?”

“Her sacred symbol. Honestly Hermione what did they teach you at university?”

She exhaled slowly, still lost in the audacious window. “It was a while ago. Also, I don’t recall focusing a great deal on ancient goddesses. Not minor ones anyway.”

Wilhelm sniffed as he responded, as though the very notion was offensive to him. “Mesopotamian. Goddess of love, sex, fertility. Also very fond of an eight pointed star. Thought to be the ancient beginnings of Easter but that’s all nonsense.”

“So why is she in the Easter window?” she asked, walking through into the shop.

Wilhelm followed her, smacking his hands together. “Old Foxcroft doesn’t know it’s nonsense, does he? He won’t be able to argue that it isn’t a legitimate theme. Today is going to be a good day, my heroine. Mark my words.”

Ishtar’s arrival kept Hermione busy; they barely sold a thing in March but a steady stream of people dropped by to chat and goggle at the display. The Easter holiday swell was boosted by many of Wilhelm’s contemporaries whom he had encouraged to visit. “We need to demonstrate solidarity Hermione,” he told her one afternoon as he prepared to meet yet another colleague from the train. “People like Miles Foxcroft don’t appreciate art because they are ignorant. They can’t see the beauty in life. It’s all figures, percentages, ‘keeping up appearances’. I don’t think we need any more of that do you?”

With Wilhelm wafting around Twain, flooding it with bohemian artisan types and antique collectors in cloaks and felt hats, Hermione spent much of her time in March without his company. Mark, however, was attentive, bringing in unusual pieces that required valuing from other clients and deliberating with her on them. She was thankful for his easy friendship more than she had ever recalled being and grateful that he didn’t mention Ron. Margot too, was on her best behaviour, keeping to her allotted break times and once even offering to close up so Hermione could go home early. Hermione suspected Wilhelm was behind Margot’s sudden personality change- God alone knew what he had said to her- but she allowed herself to release control for one evening and left the keys in someone else’s hands.

Besides, in a way she herself had taken advantage of Wilhelm’s propensity to dote on her. The Monday after Ron’s departure she had been browsing on her laptop when she accidently opened a website she had bookmarked long ago. Business Development in Professional Jewellery Level 3. She had torn through Levels 1 and 2 in previous years and had intended to take on Level 3 last Autumn but somehow life- she wouldn’t allow herself to think _Ron_\- got in the way and she didn’t apply. She also didn’t allow herself to think how strange that was for her; distracted from the business of learning. It was quite un-Hermione but hadn’t that been the very theme of the past year? It had been odd but refreshing somehow to live un-Hermione. Awakening.

That was done now however, she reminded herself resolutely with a pang as she clicked on the link for more information. The course had started again in March so she would only be a couple of weeks behind. Back to studious Hermione. _Real_ Hermione, who loved nothing more than skills and knowledge. Wilhelm didn’t need much persuasion to fund the course. She chose to ignore the fact that he was most likely agreeing to make up in some way for her apparent loss of leading man and instead, she downloaded the course material and dived straight in.

Hermione had forgotten what it was like to really throw herself into learning but spending her days in The Snitch and her nights on her laptop, fingers dashing out paragraphs on customer management and merchandise promotion, she began to feel like herself again. Stronger, like getting back to studying and attainment revitalised her. Blood flowing in sluggish veins.

She had expected that taking on the course would have this effect on her- predictable to a fault. What she hadn’t expected and was in no way prepared for, was the conversation she had with Wilhelm one blustery afternoon in the yard behind the Snitch. She was flicking through a travel website, determined that she would finally take the holiday that she had so swiftly forgotten to arrange all those months ago, when the back door opened and Wilhelm emerged. He pulled a chair over to where she sat and dropped gracefully down next to her, Bogart swirling at his ankles.

“I’m afraid the sun is too low in the sky now, Wilhelm,” she said, gestured upwards, “It’ll get cold soon.”

“Always worrying about me, sweet girl.” He fidgeted with his waistcoat, smoothing the hem where it stubbornly curled. Then he folded his hands into his lap and stared mildly into the sky above them. “No word from Scotland I take it?”

Hermione grimaced and he inclined his head.

“Are you happy here Hermione?” She started and turned to him, mouth already open to speak, when he spoke again. “All the years we’ve been together and I have never thought to ask. Is that selfish of me?”

“No!” she interjected sharply, “And of course I’m happy here.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Did Mark say something to you?”

He looked vaguely surprised. “Mark? No, not that I recall.”

“Then why would you ask me?”

Wilhelm smiled faintly and grasped the knife-sharp crease of his trousers between his thumb and finger absently. “Do you remember when you went off to university? Gosh, I was bereft. I missed having you around the shop at the weekends, taking tea with you, listening to your opinions on everything. It was like missing a limb.”

“But I came back.”

His smile widened. “You did. And I was grateful. You bring energy to the Golden Snitch Hermione. Big ideas. And I don’t know how I would do without that if you left…”

“Wilhelm, I’m not leaving…”

“But do without I would,” he finished, cutting her off, “If you wanted to go off and have a big adventure. If you wanted to choose love.”

Hermione frowned and then paused, feeling the space between her eyebrows buckle and then relax. Wilhelm looked faintly embarrassed as his fingers plucked at the tweed fabric and her heart swelled at the sight of his knuckles, now slightly engorged with arthritis, and the backs of his hands, mottled with age. She rested her hand over his and stilled it. He looked up at her.

“What makes you think this isn’t me choosing love?” 

Wilhelm looked wary. “I know it can’t be much fun for you stuck here with us while your leading man rides off into the sunset. The heroine usually follows.”

Hermione sat back and clasped his hand between both of hers tightly. “Well, I’m not your everyday heroine Wilhelm. I’m sorry he didn’t turn out to be the leading man you hoped for.”

“And are you sorry? For yourself?”

She paused. When she thought back on the months since the Weasleys blew into their lives, so much of it seemed unreal. Lying next to Ron as he slept at the Celestial Show, barely knowing him really yet fighting the urge to kiss him. The fizz in her blood as they wrestled on top of the chess board, suddenly feeling wanton and careless as he stripped her down. And all the little things: the streak of jealousy on seeing Ron’s ex-girlfriend, the constantly eyeballing of her mobile phone for messages, the swervy wooziness that could come from his simply holding opening a door for her.

Yes, she was sorry, probably more sorry than she acknowledged to even herself. But what could be gained by being sorry?

“I’m not sorry I’m staying here with you,” she finished at last, squeezing his hand, “If this is a fairy story maybe the ending won’t be so predictable.”

Wilhelm smiled properly for the first time since he sat down. “I suppose we should be thinking about your partnership then, Lady Hermione.”

Her eyes widened as she stared over at him.

“It’s time, I think, don’t you? To run the Golden Snitch as a team.”

“Do you mean with Mark?”

“Certainly not!” he guffawed, “With me! I’m not over the hill yet, dear girl. Good heavens, what is all this about Mark?” He stilled a moment, amusement on his face. “Mark is the money man Hermione. He knows a few things but he doesn’t understand the heart of the items we deal with. I see you with our pieces, the way you handle them and sell them, even how you photograph them. You perceive the importance of them. You treat them well. I know you find all my gemstone lore difficult sometimes but you respect it and I appreciate that.”

“So when you say as a team…?”

“Mark will always have a financial stake in the Snitch and he’s helpful in many ways. But you and I would be the true partners, making the real decisions. Up until now you have had to defer to me, which I know frustrates you at times. Unsurprising given how bright you are, but now you will have an equal say.” He sighed, as if contemplating whether or not to say what he was thinking aloud. “The truth of the matter is Hermione, I held back. I should have offered you the opportunity years ago but I wanted to be sure you were sure about staying in Twain. I didn’t want to be the reason you were tied here if you’d rather be somewhere else.”

The back door slapped open and Margot leant out, face twisted in displeasure that she made little effort to hide.

“It’s time for me to go home. The dogs will be expecting their tea.” She spoke to Hermione directly but Wilhelm got to his feet first.

“There’ll be a bit to do if you decide to say yes but think it over, dear heart,” he said lowly as he stood, stretched and left her sitting in the chilly Spring afternoon.

~

“You should go.”

“To Tanzania?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Great, thanks Mark. You’ll do my shifts here then will you? I’ll nip off to Africa and leave you to it.”

“It’s only four weeks.”

“You wouldn’t last four days.”

A thick green folder sat on the table between them, all glossy sheen and crisp plastic scent. It had arrived that morning for Wilhelm from Meryl, a contemporary of his in Germany, owner of several of the luscious minaudieres they displayed in February. Each year, Meryl headed an expedition to gemstone mines across the globe. It was a chance to meet with mine owners and workers, dealers and manufacturers first hand, as well as getting to examine the gemstones in their place of origin. It was a privilege to be invited but Wilhelm turned her down each and every year since their Sri Lankan trip to visit the moonstone mines in 1982. This year she was travelling to Nairobi and Tanzania.

“Shouldn’t she go Wilhelm?” Mark piped up as Wilhelm bustled through from the shop.

“Hmm?”

Mark slapped his open palm on the folder. “With Meryl to Africa. Go see it for herself.”

Wilhelm perched gracefully in the third seat and lifted his cup, frowning slightly. “Is that where she’s going? Meryl never knows when to slow down. Do you know she’ll be seventy this year? Seventy. And marching off to Africa like we were thirty again.” He sipped his tea. “Of course you may go Hermione.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go!” she replied, her exasperated tone grating against his pleasant one, “God Mark you are really winding me up today!” She lifted the folder and smacked his bicep with it. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“Ok, pretend I never spoke,” Mark replied mildly, swallowing a Florentine in one mouthful, “Speaking of minding your own business, I hear the council have called a meeting about the shop windows again. Sounds like someone has been pissing them off.”

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow, the cup at his mouth barely hiding the upward curve of his lips. “Is that so? Do you know when?”

“Friday night but it’s a closed meeting. I only heard about it ‘cos Imelda’s husband sits on the council.”

The notion that he was being shut out of council business incited a rage in Wilhelm that lasted the rest of the week, which gave Hermione all the excuse she needed to keep her head in her books. It also afforded her plenty of time to mull over Wilhelm’s offer. She was surprised by how calm she had remained during the conversation; in fact it was only later, as she lounged in a tepid bath, that she allowed herself to grasp the enormity of what he had said. A partnership. An equal share. Being allowed to shape the future of The Golden Snitch.

Had she always hoped to be offered such an opportunity? She was happy, she thought. And yet, as she ran more hot water into the tub, Hermione could feel doubts nibbling on the edge of her mind. Had the Golden Snitch only been enough for her because, in her heart of hearts, she had always thought that someday she would leave, just as everyone thought she would, and be a great, big something somewhere else? Could it contain the hopes and ideas she had for herself?

Or was all this sudden self-doubt down to something else? Someone else? Why was she suddenly so unsure?


	11. Chapter 11

**Sunday Funday! The April/Diamond chapter was one of my favourites to write, although I wrote and rewrote bits of it repeatedly. I like writing about George and I wish I could have squeezed more of him in. I’m currently being driven mad by my next AU so maybe he will slide in there somewhere.**

**Thank you (again and again and again) for every review, kudos, etc. I will see you all in 2020.**

**APRIL/DIAMOND**

**Ancient Egyptians attribute diamonds with being the source of light and life. The Hindus believed they could bestow superhuman ability and that they attracted and created lightning bolts which provided divine strength and invincibility. Cupid’s bow was thought to be tipped with diamond. **

April fell upon Twain in a swirl of unpredictable weather; one moment unseasonably hot, the next spitting rain from muscular grey clouds. The pastel lightness of Easter had given way to something altogether more dark and foreboding. Hermione took advantage of the inclement weather, using the dismal evenings to push herself further into her studies. The Business Development course required more of her than she had anticipated but rather than pacing herself she took on more, choosing to do all the assignments instead of just the mandatory ones, dialling into the Skype workshops and hanging on at the end of the call to ask the lecturer questions from a lengthening list she was developing. She spent her evenings watching videos and reading articles, her head spinning with terms like ‘financial variable’ and ‘promotional spend’. And yes, it was tiring, but it was also invigorating.

So when George stuck his head round the door one late morning and asked her for a favour, she barely gave it a second thought, so full was her mind with her latest case study. A delicate matter, he had said. Needed her to wait after work to discuss it. The conversation had actually slipped her mind so that when she heard the little bell tinkle from where she was slotting the last of the boxes into the safe in the office, she thought it was Wilhelm.

“Oh! George?”

“Did you forget? About our little rendezvous?” He looked disappointed.

“Uh, no. Sorry, I was just locking a few things up. Come in.” She busied herself stacking the stationery items that lay abandoned from the day. “How can I help?”

He made a show of leaning to look around her. “Anyone else here?”

“No. Just me. It was me you wanted to see?”

“Yes, yes. It had to be you.” George turned on his heel and locked the snib on the front door before making his way back to the counter.

Hermione frowned. “This is all very cloak and dagger George. What’s going on?”

“It’s a bit sensitive is all. I didn’t want to mention it to anyone else yet. I wanted to talk it through with you first.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and Hermione felt panic rise in her throat. For the first time in a few weeks, she found herself thinking about Ron, really thinking about him. Not that he hadn’t crossed her mind every so often; for example when she caught sight of the celestial bracelet lying neglected in her jewellery box or walked by a poster for the next village event. The idea of him surfaced but never for long; her studies had crowded out almost everything else. But now George was here, wanting to discuss something ‘delicate’, something he didn’t want to say in front of the others.

Irrational thoughts sped through her brain in the split second after George spoke. _He’s come to tell me that Ron has gotten back together with his girlfriend. I bet that’s it. He’s come to warn me so I’m not surprised when the two of them visit him here. _ Even as the idea came into her mind, she dismissed it as ridiculous. _Why would George even tell you that? He’s not his brother’s keeper, for God’s sake. Catch a grip of yourself Hermione Granger._

Still, her heartbeat kicked up a little as she waited for him to continue. When he held the pause she burst out, “For heaven’s sake George tell me!”

“I want to propose to Angelina!” The words shot out of his mouth in a nervous spurt and Hermione sensed something suspiciously like relief flood her chest.

“Oh George! Well that’s wonderful! You had me worried for a moment.” She pressed her hand against her heart as if to steady its pace.

“Sorry,” George grimaced, “I’m not sure what you must have thought of me coming in all Mission Impossible, top secret on you.” His grimace was replaced by a grin. “I just don’t want it getting out. It needs to be a complete surprise. I’m only confiding in you because I need your help.”

She felt herself sharing his grin. “Of course, happy to help. Now is this help in a proposal way or in a jewellery way?”

“Oh strictly jeweller advice needed only. I have the proposal sorted. Just need the ring.”

“Well George,” she replied, pulling a bunch of keys out of her jacket pocket, “I’m just the person.”

The next two hours were possibly the most enjoyable Hermione had ever spent selling jewellery. George had clearly put a lot of time and effort into researching the subject, going as far as pilfering a ring of Angelina’s so they could get the size right. He had ideas about cut, setting, metal, examining each offering carefully to see if it passed muster, then putting it to one side or the other depending on his opinion. Despite his steely focus, George was easy company, joking and pulling faces, telling anecdotes about his family and humorous occurrences in the shop.

As the clock ticked past seven, Hermione made them tea and they sat at the little table with the final five contestants laid out in front of them.

”Have I been a nightmare customer Hermione?” George said now as he stared at the rings on the table. “You can tell me, I won’t hate you.”

She blew softly on her tea as she answered, “Not at all. It’s been very entertaining. Much more so than writing up a case study I’ve been working on for my course.”

“What are you studying?” He lifted one of the rings and peered at it.

“Business development in jewellery. Distance learning. I had always wanted to do it, I just… Oh it doesn’t matter. It’s too late to go into it all now.”

George set the ring back onto the table and looked up at her. “Go on. Why didn’t you do it before now?” He smiled encouragingly and she felt herself relax.

“You know I had intended to start it last September and then I was distracted-“ George’s mouth quirked at one side but he said nothing- “And then the more I thought about it, I realised that actually I was quite glad I hadn’t started it. Relieved. Up until recently I didn’t really understand why that was. There was just _something_ stopping me. But lately I have been thinking that unconsciously I thought that if I did the official course and became properly qualified then it would be me saying that I would take over from Wilhelm when he retired. ‘That’s it. I’m staying in Twain forever’. Do you know what I mean?”

“And you don’t want to? Stay in Twain?”

She pursed her lips in thought. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… I have spent my whole life here, apart from when I went to Uni. And all the way along I have had people tell me that I need to get out of here, that I’m wasting my intelligence or whatever. Go see the world Hermione. Don’t hang about in a little English village going nowhere.”

“Is that what you think?” George asked, circling the rim of his cup with a finger, “Do you think you’re wasting away here?”

“My biggest concern is that no, I never did.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well what if I’m wrong? What if I’m missing out and it’s not enough to be happy here?” She carefully avoided the subject of the partnership. George was kind but she didn’t feel they had enough of a relationship to warrant that sort of conversation.

George exhaled and thought about what she said, as she watched his expression. “Look Hermione, you’ve been to university right? I mean, you’ve lived out there in the big bad world haven’t you?” She nodded slowly. “So you know what’s out there. You did three or four years of it and you came back to Twain. Doesn’t that tell you something? Personally, I love Twain. Ottery St Catchpole is a lot like this so I guess it feels homely to me. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I hear the siren call of the City but it passes. Of course, not everyone is made for village life.”

“Like Ron.” The two words slipped out between her lips before she had time to stop them and Hermione bit them shut lest anything else untoward came out.

Something like regret rippled over George’s expression in response. “Yeah…. Ron. Ron’s a difficult one.”

“How so?” Oh God would she ever shut up? Surely this was not going to be a helpful conversation.

“He’s…..” George trailed off. His gaze bored into the table for a few moments and then he looked up, seemingly resolving something in his mind. “Here’s the thing Hermione. Ron has always been a bit unsure of himself. He got lost a bit in the family growing up, you know? Like there were so many boys before him so boys weren’t anything special by the time he came along and then Mum had Ginny afterwards and that _was_ exciting so really he didn’t have a specific role. He wasn’t the eldest or the brain, or the rebel or a twin or the girl. He was just Ron. And he found it hard, I think. I don’t know how much he has told you about our family but we were pretty hard up. Everything was second hand, we didn’t have holidays or good clothes. It could be tough at times.”

Hermione thought of the day by the train track, her stupid comments forcing Ron to explain about not going to university and she felt ashamed all over again.

“So when he left school and got a job, he was able to afford to move out and get his own place and his own stuff. I thought Mum was going to have a heart attack when he announced he was off to Scotland. She likes us close does Mum. But he seemed to come into his own. Me and Fred visited him just before Fred died and he seemed really happy.” George picked at a scar in the wooden table, hollowing it out into splinters with his nail.

“I’m sorry for making you bring up your brother’s death George,” Hermione said gently, sensing a shift in the mood, “Please don’t feel like you have to say anything further.”

George gave a thin smile. “It’s me who should be apologising, Hermione. It’s was our dream, mine and Fred’s, to open Weasley’s Wonders. When Fred died, we had just taken out a huge loan for the business, everything was just about to kick off and I just… Lost my way for a while. All the family helped in their way but it was Ron who stepped up. He took over managing everything while I got myself together. I dunno what I would have done without him. But in order to help me, he had to put his dream on hold. Move back to village life, leave his job and his friends. And I was so mentally fogged up at the time that I didn’t really understand what he was sacrificing until we were here and it was too late.”

He took a breath and examined a splinter between his index finger and thumb. “I always felt bad that I had taken him away from his life so when the expansion thing came up, I pushed for the new shop to be in Edinburgh so I could give him the chance to go back.” He dropped the splinter and pointed his finger at her. “I just didn’t account for you Hermione G.”

She straightened, taken aback, as she poured fresh tea. “Me?”

George wagged his finger. “Yes you. I knew there was something going on between you two. The little green tree on Ron’s key bunch and him driving home from the airport at breakneck speed to go to your birthday party was the start of it. Then you guys waltzing around Twain dressed like Barbie and Ken at Christmas, arm in arm.” Hermione took a long sip from her mug, savouring the memories as he spoke. “Not to mention coming home to find you half naked on my carpet.”

She gulped the liquid down, scalding her throat in the process, heat flaming her cheeks. “Let’s never speak of that again please George.”

George laughed and saluted. “Consider it done. So yeah, I knew you guys were seeing each other and I’m sorry that all this has resulted in Ron leaving Twain. I just didn’t realise it was serious.”

“To be honest George I’m not sure how serious it was.” Hermione winced as she heard the melancholy tone in her voice.

George snorted. “Really? ‘Cos the mopey shit Ron was pulling before he left seemed pretty serious to me. God, he was in such a mood all the time, I didn’t know what was going on. It didn’t click with me ‘til the night of his leaving drinks when you just disappeared. Then the day before he left he kept staring moonily at The Snitch. I told him to go in and speak to you but he wouldn’t. Said it was already done, or some bollocks.” She glanced up and met his eye, pained, and his face softened. “Edinburgh really isn’t that far away you know. You guys could work something out.” He set down his mug and lifted two of the rings to compare.

Hermione drained her cup and thought about what George had said, watching him peer into the stones. She appreciated his kindness- his heart was clearly in the right place- but he hadn’t been on the receiving end of Ron’s big reveal speech at the Valentine’s fete. Hadn’t heard Ron using her own words about long distance relationships to make even trying to stay in contact seem like a ludicrous notion. Hadn’t heard him admitting he was unhappy here. She could tell George all of this but what was the point? Hermione prided herself on being pragmatic and pragmatism was really what was required here.

“Is that the one then?” The ring he was examining now was exactly what George was looking for, easily the most fitting of all the rings he had deliberated over this evening. Hermione had watched him come back to it repeatedly, as though checking it was still perfect and now, as he held it again, she knew it was a match. Pleasingly, Hermione could see Angelina’s hands in her mind’s eye- memorising a person’s features was a hard habit to break when you dealt with jewellery- and she knew the ring would work beautifully.

“Yes,” he replied finally, giving it one last twirl, “This is the one.”

She wrote up the order and took the deposit, promising to put a rush on it so George would have it for the following weekend. As he bundled himself up, preparing to go out into the chilly April night, George turned towards her and inclined his head.

“Thanks for this Hermione. And I meant what I said about Ron, you know. Why don’t you text him? He’s been flat out since he started up there. I bet he’d be happy to hear from you. G’night.”

The remainder of the evening was spent pretending to read over an assignment and pretending to not be glaring at her phone, as though Ron should somehow sense she was thinking about texting him and _text her first. _She went as far as typing the first few words, keeping it light and chatty, just checking how he was getting along, one friend to another. She couldn’t get any further. Her train of thought stalled, everything she wrote seemed falsely cheerful and thinly disguising the thing that she really wanted to say: I miss you.

This inability to be direct with Ron was infuriating, not least because it went against Hermione’s every instinct and she couldn’t understand why. She had no problem being honest with anyone she had previously dated. If she liked them, she told them. If it wasn’t working out then she dealt with that too. This reticence was strange and surely that was a bad sign. If she was struggling to be honest with Ron perhaps that was the Universe’s way of telling her to leave well alone.

~

There was much celebrating when George burst into The Golden Snitch and announced that Angelina had agreed to marry him. On a professional level Hermione had also been relieved as she could now reveal who had purchased the exquisite Marquise cut diamond ring that had appeared overnight in the purchasing requests.

“We’re going to have a bit of a do next Saturday night, probably in The Saw. You’re all very welcome.” George was beaming widely, accepting a vigorous handshake from Mark.

“The Saw, George?” Wilhelm shook his head mildly. “I think we can do a little finer than that for such a happy occasion. You leave the details to me and consider it an early wedding present for you and the lovely Angelina.”

Which was how Hermione found herself standing in the grounds of Lysander House on the last day of March clutching a glass of champagne in one hand and Mark’s arm in the other.

“Are we going to stand here like a pair of tailor’s dummies all night Hermione?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t even think about leaving me alone Mark Ramsey. If ever there was a time to repay all the instances I have covered for you in the shop, this is it.”

The Walled Garden looked spectacular, golden festoon lighting draped elegantly from one central pole like a sparkling circus tent. Clarissa Lysander had taken Wilhelm’s request very seriously and had pulled out all the stops: Chiavari chairs around small circular tables dressed in white linen and rose gold cutlery, trees strung with little coloured lanterns, a vast array of nibbles and bottles of fizz. Every so often George would circle round to where they stood, looking vaguely terrified.

“When he said a bit finer, I wasn’t expecting this! Are you sure he’s not going to send me the bill for all that wine?”

Hermione laughed and clinked her glass against his. “Absolutely not. He loves things like this. Any excuse to be grand. Now go enjoy it with your fiancée!”

From their spot in the garden- carefully chosen by Hermione as it was partially shaded by some early flowering clematis- they could watch the comings and goings of the party. Most of the village were in attendance, including the Eddings sisters who had brought something lethal looking in a huge glass jar that appeared fresh from the still, and many of the happy couple’s friends had travelled up or down the country to celebrate with them. The Weasley family were conspicuous in their arrival, not least because there was so many of them. A gaggle of smartly dressed brothers of various ages rolled in, backslapping George and kissing Angelina, closely followed by a stout, homely woman, eyes wide at the spectacle of Lysander House, arm linked with a tall man with sandy ginger hair. Mrs. Weasley plucked and prodded George, in between gasps at the splendour of the garden, before being guided off by her husband to examine the buffet. A short while later a statuesque woman with beautifully sculpted shoulders and cropped red hair entered, holding hands with a bespectacled man with dark, slightly out of control hair. Mrs. Weasley spotted them and began plucking and prodding again, first Ron’s sister, then her husband, as though ensuring they weren’t too thin. 

It grew later and the wind picked up. It was unseasonably warm for April which was ideal for the party but also put an inland village like Twain at risk of thunderstorms. The tablecloths flapped in the breeze, loose hair lifting around faces, skirts rippling. Overhead fast moving clouds thickened darkly.

Mark stayed by Hermione’s side, although he complained about it thoroughly, occasionally excusing himself for brief interludes to order drinks and bring back canapes on plates.

Handing her a glass of white wine, he muttered, “I have no idea which one of George’s bothers I was just speaking to. Christ there’s a lot of them isn’t there?”

They stood in silence until curiosity overtook her and Hermione pushed up onto her toes for a better look. “So where is he?” Mark said suddenly and she dropped back onto her heels with a hollow thud.

“Who?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Oh right, we’re playing that game are we?”

“No idea what you are talking about Mark,” she sniffed, eyes flicking round the courtyard.

“’Course you don’t. We’re just two people, standing at a party, being slowly eaten alive by this ivy thing here…”

“It’s clematis.”

“This _clematis_ thing here. Waiting for no-one, looking for no-one. Have I got the gist of it?”

“That sums it up, yes.” She pulled surreptitiously at the neckline of her dress.

“Hey,” he spoke more softly and she turned her face up to him, “I meant to say, you look good tonight. The dress… it’s a good dress.”

As far as dresses went, Hermione concluded that Mark was right, it was a good dress and intentionally so. Black stretch satin from bust to mid-calf with a chiffon overlay embroidered with undulating flowers. The sweetheart neckline was strapless but ‘respectably’ high. The killer detail was in the cut, material wrapping round her body, cinching her waist, giving her curves she didn’t rightfully possess.

When she first learned about the engagement party, she instantly thought of asking Suzy to lend her something from her fabulous wardrobe. But the notion annoyed her. Why shouldn’t she own something fabulous for herself? One late night internet trawl later and ‘Delilah’ was hers. Now at least if she did see Ron, she would look like someone worth missing.

“Thank you. We make quite the handsome pair.”

“The Jewellery King and Queen of Twain.” It was an odd thing to say but she laughed to diffuse the strangeness. “Have you thought any more about The Snitch?”

“Meaning?”

“The partnership. I know you’ve been learning all the business stuff in that course you’ve been taking. I saw your textbook on the table. You have been thinking about it haven’t you? It’s a great offer.”

The sky rumbled ominously.

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you signing the papers and drinking Dom Perignon in the back office?”

Another rumble, closer this time.

“I… I need to time to think it through. Maybe I won’t stay in Twain forever, I could go somewhere else. Work somewhere else. The Golden Snitch isn’t the only jeweller’s shop in the world.” He was starting to irritate her with this line of questioning.

“Why would you do that?” Mark replied, glancing up into the sky, “You know the Snitch inside out, it would be a breeze. We could run it together.”

“You and me?” Hermione didn’t even try to keep the incredulousness out of her voice. “Us running the shop? I thought you were all for moving your investment. Isn’t that what you said? ‘There’s always someone looking cash’.”

He winced a little, eyes creasing at the edges. “I did say that. But only because you said you didn’t want to take it on. If Wilhelm retires I’m not going to keep the money in someone else’s venture. But with you being a partner…”

“But I am someone else, Mark.”

“Nah. You’re you. I’d stick around for you.”

There was a pause, a moment where his comment just hung in the air and neither of them spoke in case they disturbed it, in case what he had said caused aftershocks. Neither wanted to be the one that followed on from that. Fortuitously, the weather chose that precise moment to break, a jagged spear of lightning cracking the sky open and freeing sheets of heavy rain. There was a clamour of activity as the Lysander staff unwound the massive awning at the side of the house where, wisely, Lady Lysander had set up the tables and buffet. Mark dashed off to help the Weasley brothers move the mobile bar that had been set up near the entrance to the garden and Hermione took the opportunity to sneak away, dancing through the rain to the old boot room, which had been converted into bathroom facilities for outdoor events.

She stared at herself in the oval gilded mirror; the low, tawny light made her eyes seem huge. The first signs of the effects of water on her hair were starting to become apparent, tiny wavy threads releasing themselves from the sleek loose curls she had tamed them into earlier. Pressing them gently back in, Hermione reapplied her lipstick and examined herself again, blotting the water from her cheeks and checking her mascara hadn’t run. With any luck Mark would have realised how awkward their conversation had been and would have gone to find a beer to nurse. Suddenly him staying glued to her side all evening was the very last thing she needed.

Opening the door, she studied the downpour. _Little point in fixing yourself up Granger. _And then she saw him, sitting in an alcove on a stone, claw-footed bench. He was dressed in a black suit, his white shirt transparent in splotches where the rain had hit him and a skinny black tie. He stared off to one side, fingers steepled together, elbows on knees.

Even as she walked towards him Hermione knew she should be thinking about this more carefully; thinking about what to say, thinking about how to play it. He hadn’t seen her, she could have given herself time to work out the smoothest possible entrance. Said something witty or at least not made a complete fool of herself, given her recent Champagne consumption. Instead she steadily stepped toward him, scarcely noticing the raindrops glancing off her, until he looked up.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. You’re soaked.” He shifted up on the bench, making room for her, and she boosted herself up next to him. The alcove, set into the garden wall and hung with a thick canopy of ivy, provided exactly the right amount of shelter. The rain thundered not a foot from where they sat and they were untouched. Rivulets of water wound their way down Hermione’s shins and she leant over her thighs to watch them. Now that she was here, bare arm touching the fabric of Ron’s jacket, she was painfully aware of why she should have thought this through. Another arrow of lightning illuminated the night.

“I didn’t see you there,” Ron started and then he laughed, a rasp through his teeth, “Actually that’s a lie. I just arrived. Saw you disappear round the side of the house and I followed you. I thought ‘Come on now Ron. You want to make this as awkward as possible. Go speak to the gorgeous girl you blew it with’. Sort of glad I did, sort of wish I hadn’t.”

“How are you Ron?” _Keep. It. Light_.

“Knackered. Stressed. Want to tear my friggin’ hair out. You look fantastic by the way.”

“Thank you…”

“Which is really unnecessary just so you know,” he interjected airily, “You didn’t need to look that good. I could have done without it.”

She continued to stare down, wanting to be pleased but unsure as to whether or not he was complimenting her. The words were flattering, it was his tone that was off. He sounded resigned, sad even. Not the buoyant, happy person she had laughed with a few weeks ago.

“How’s the new shop working out?” As much as she wanted to ask the _big _questions- like ‘why are you so down?’ and ‘when you say you could have done without it, what do you mean?’- Hermione just couldn’t force herself to do it. For starting down that road meant generating the intimacy they had once briefly shared and that was a lost cause. Wasn’t it?

Ron sat up and braced himself against the bench. “It’s been… hard. Difficult without George to bounce things off. Of course he’s on the phone every five minutes but it isn’t the same as just being able to turn to him and say ‘Hey, what do you think of this?’ The investors want everything done yesterday, which has been tricky because the contractors took a nice, long extended break for Easter so getting them back to work was my main battle in March. Now, everything is racing ahead and actually I’m the one that’s behind. I need stock quicker than it can be delivered and George wants to road test the new stuff which has been impossible to organise because he’s been down here getting engaged!” He stopped abruptly and smiled at her. “Bet you’re sorry you asked.”

She looked at him, red hair plastered to his forehead, big, handsome grin on his face. And he thought she was making it hard for him.

“That’s sounds awful. I’m sorry. But once you get everything up and running. Surely it will calm down?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And being back in Edinburgh must be nice. Back to your flat and your friends.” Above them the sky, almost violet now, grumbled discontentedly, as if reminding her that this was an unquestionably uncomfortable topic to be touching on.

Ron puffed up his cheeks and blew out the air forcibly. “Haven’t had much time to think about it, really. I mean, yes it has been good to get back to see everyone but I dunno… feels strange too.” Hermione curled her fingers underneath her thighs and willed herself not to speak. “How’s Wilhelm? And the shop?”

“Good. Wilhelm has been annoying the local council with his window dressing. Margot took the dogs to Crufts last month. She didn’t win anything but I think it has just fuelled the fire for next year. She spends her days looking at poodle videos on YouTube. And Mark… is just Mark.”

“And you?”

“Fine. Taking a course in Business Development.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Sounds dull.”

She shoved him gently with her shoulder. “Well it isn’t. I like it. Keeps me busy.”

There was a pause and then Ron said softly, “So we’re both keeping busy huh?”

“Seems that way,” she replied smartly.

An inebriated couple rounded the corner and headed into the boot room, shouting greetings to Ron. They sat in silence listening to the restless night until the couple appeared again and returned to the party.

“The new shop will work out you know,” Hermione found herself saying, really, she supposed, to stop herself asking the _big questions_. “I know it must be really chaotic right now but it will be worth it. Soon you’ll have a grand new shop, and not just in a tiny little English village but in a major city. It’s a big deal.”

Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye. Ron pursed his lips, picking at a spot of greenish lichen on the bench between them and said nothing.

She let the silence build until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Ron, look at me. What is it? Aren’t you happy?” His blue eyes flickered up to her face, expression unreadable. “You can tell me,” she continued faintly, “If there’s something wrong.”

His nail on the lichen made a feeble scrape as he worked it back and forth until finally he answered her.

“The thing I like most about you Hermione is that you really know who you are. You are one hundred percent you.”

She felt confused at the turn the conversation had taken. “Who else would I be?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure who I am…” Ron trailed off.

“In what way?”

He stopped scraping at the lichen and set his hands into his lap, pressing his thumbnail into each finger pad one after the other. “This is going to sound stupid…”

“I’m sure it’s not stupid…” she interrupted before clamping her mouth shut at her impertinence. “Sorry.”

Ron clicked his tongue in amusement. “It’s okay. The thing is, sometimes I feel like I’ve spent a lot of my life being what other people want me to be. I mean, when I was younger it was chaos at home and the main job we all had was pretending we didn’t need things or want things so that Mum and Dad wouldn’t feel bad about not being able to afford them. We wore second hand school uniforms and shared books and stationery, that sort of thing. And that was alright most of the time but you know, when you’re a kid, sometimes you just really want something new or the latest thing. And it used to piss me off sometimes that I couldn’t be honest and tell them I didn’t want Percy’s old bike or the chess set that George and Fred set fire to once. It sounds selfish hearing it out loud. My parents gave me loads of things, they just always seemed to be the wrong things.”

He resumed his grating of the lichen, avoiding her eyes.

“So I spent my childhood acting like all that didn’t bother me, I mean I had my fair share of scrapes and bother at school. I was no angel. But I tried to keep in line as much as I could, do as I was told. Fitted in. But it was okay because once I left school I moved away from home and had this whole life that was just mine. A job I picked for myself, a flat I paid for myself, furniture of my own, clothes of my own. I know it must sound crazy to someone like you but it felt really good not to have to share. And then…” Ron paused and looked out into the courtyard, laughter pealing out from around the corner of the house. “And then Fred died and George needed help and I didn’t even think about it really. Jacked in the job, rented out the flat and moved to Twain.”

Hermione heart sank lower in her chest as she listened to him speak. Yet again she cast herself back to Valentine’s weekend when she reacted so inappropriately to Ron’s announcement, only thinking about the pain his apparent unhappiness in Twain was causing her. She wished she could grab that girl by the shoulders and shake the thoughtlessness out of her.

Ron seemed to have reached a natural pause so she hesitantly said, “I don’t think I really understood. How much you gave up to be here, to help George. It must have been difficult.”

“I’m not going to lie to you Hermione. I spent more than a few nights lying in bed listening to those bloody owls and wondering what the hell I had done. It was lonely here. Felt like the whole village was waiting for us to fail. And me and George were putting in hour after hour to keep it going, make it better. I just knew we couldn’t let it all collapse. But again, I was doing it for someone else. Weasley’s Wonders wasn’t and isn’t my dream, not really. I just didn’t want to let George down.”

“Did you try to speak to him about it? I’m sure George would understand.”

“Think he probably already knows,” Ron replied, matter-of-factly, “But what can he do about it? We are in this thing now, up to our necks. Neither of us are getting out of it.”

He turned to look at her and registering her glum expression he set his hand over hers on the bench. She marvelled once more at how warm he was compared to her, like he had an inner heat source that was unaffected by anything else.

“Oh it wasn’t all bad, I met you didn’t I?”

“I’m not sure that was a good thing to be honest.”

“Meaning?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Well I spent most of the time snapping at you or putting you in your place. And when you tried to explain about going back to Edinburgh, I was a complete bitch to you. I didn’t even say goodbye.”

Ron laughed then, a big, belly laugh that threw his head back and creased his eyes. “Yeah, when you put it like that! Nah..” he went on, smiling, “You’re the best thing about Twain. Being here was better when I knew you were downstairs. I could nip down whenever I needed a pick me up and there you’d be- conning people into buying expensive rubbish, or up a ladder refusing help from anyone or aggressively polishing the brass on the bloody door. In the early days I would come down to The Snitch just so I could pick a fight with you about something.”

Hermione cast her memory back to before Weasley’s Wonders opened; to the time Ron complained their new air conditioner was rattling his floorboards upstairs, when he argued with her for twenty minutes straight about the position of their skip, when she caught him putting non-recyclable material in the recycling dumpster and they had a heated disagreement over plastic film.

“You picked fights with me?” she asked, astonished. “All those arguments we had were…?”

“Foreplay,” he grinned, “I loved seeing you get all riled up. And clearly it worked for you too.” His grin had a wicked edge to it now and she felt her pulse quicken a little. 

“I…” She was momentarily lost for words, though she knew he was right; their teasing and back-and-forth had brought sparks and frisson and delicious tension.

“I miss you.” She said it quickly but deliberately. It wasn’t a mistake or a slip of the tongue. She meant him to hear it, wanted him to. Since they only had this brief slice of time, she needed to tell him something true- it felt like she had spent a lot of their time together afraid to be truthful.

Ron raised his eyebrows, surprise registering on his face as if this was the very last thing he expected her to say. She watched it slowly ebb away and something else- pleasure?- replace it. He squeezed her hand.

“Will I tell you a secret?” She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t really know what was going on between us when I went to China. I mean, I _knew _obviously but we didn’t really talk about it that much. We just sort of fell into it. And I was in Shanghai talking to Joanna about the expansion and she was saying, you know, that the new shop would be a lot of work and whichever one of us was going to head it up would need to be really focussed, no distractions. Huge deal, lots of money, blah blah. Basically making sure I was on board. And the whole time she was talking I was thinking about you and trying to balance it up in my head. And I nearly told her to stick it, actually. She used some chess analogy when she was describing business strategies and all I could see was you on that bloody chess board in your white shirt.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“I swear to God I almost said ‘Never mind friggin’ shops Joanna, I’ve a chess game to finish!”

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

“But then I thought about George and the family and how much it means to all of them. I knew they’d be over the moon when they heard about the new shop. And I knew George was happy here. I didn’t want to uproot him again after everything that’s happened. And I remembered about us agreeing long distance relationships were a bad idea and didn’t work. And honestly Hermione, it felt a bit soon to be having that discussion. I wasn’t sure how to say ‘Is this going somewhere?’ or ‘Do you want to commit to trying to make it work?’. Do you know what I mean?”

She did, of course, though part of her hated to admit it. She had felt that same reticence. “I know what you mean.”

“Well that’s a relief. Though I bloody wish I had’ve just asked you. I thought when I got to Edinburgh and started work on the shop that it would be kind of the same as when we started here. I know it’s a much bigger project and George wasn’t there and when I couldn’t get my head in the game I thought those were the reasons why. But I reckon it was also because you weren’t there. Angry little face at the window watching us moving bags of cement about, telling me off because cardboard doesn’t go in the black bin, it goes in the green bin…”

“It’s the blue bin actually,” she interrupted without thinking.

“Hah! See? I missed that. Toy shops were never going to be my thing Hermione but when I had you, suddenly it didn’t matter that much. It was just… I dunno how to explain it. Easier. Better. I slept at night. I took conference calls without dreading them all morning. I got to hang out with you and go to the weird village events. You taught me about meteors and churches, I heard a very amusing story about how you made someone come out in blisters just by kissing them…”

“That was hogweed!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping a little where she sat.

“Alright princess, I believe you. The point is, I got to Scotland and it wasn’t the same. I thought it would be but it wasn’t. That’s the secret. I thought we hadn’t known each other long enough for you to have made that big a difference. But…. You did, it seems.”

It was strangely heart-breaking to hear Ron say it all out loud. She should be pleased, shouldn’t she? He was basically telling her that he cared about her, that he missed her; he was validating all the things she felt about him and yet what did it change? Could it change anything?

“But you said you weren’t happy here,” she replied slowly. His comments about returning to Scotland had been reverberating in her ears since he had said them. “So I’m confused. Where you happy or were you not?”

Ron sighed. “Oh God, I was so unprepared to tell you about Edinburgh that day. I know it was selfish but I sort of made my mind up that we would have one more day where it would all be normal, that I wouldn’t tell you until the next day. Was putting it off really, ‘cos I knew it would change everything and I wasn’t really ready. But I couldn’t do it. There you were, innocently chatting away, completely unaware. I felt shitty about it so I told you but I hadn’t really thought it out. So all this stuff came out that I didn’t mean to say.”

“So did you mean it? About being unhappy?”

“I didn’t say I was unhappy!” he spluttered, lifting his hand and smacking the back of hers lightly in reprimand, “I said George was happy and that I missed home. Both true.”

“But you were less happy than George?” Hermione persisted, desperate now in her need to understand.

Ron grumbled sharply. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you. Look Hermione.” He swivelled round to face her, lacing their fingers together, “Let’s say George was happier than me. Well, that’s not a reflection on you or us or anything like that. My personal happiness was always going to be less because I wasn’t here following my own dream, you know? I was working on George’s. And shouldering the weight of the Weasley family expectations. I was a bit resentful of having to leave my life in Scotland, even though I did it willingly. No one forced me. And I would do it again, it’s just that sometimes I felt a bit mad at myself. I think deep down I thought the shop wouldn’t work and we’d be able to go back to our old lives so I didn’t really think all this would be forever.”

He paused and then said, “So that’s what came up when you asked me if I was happy. It was a double answer really, though I did _not_ explain it well at all. I was unhappy because I felt like I had made a stupid decision, rushing into the partnership with George, without thinking about how that would affect my life and giving myself so much bloody work to do in the process. But I was happy with you, Hermione. Really happy. I just didn’t know how to say that so early on without sounding creepy.”

The rain had swept away leaving the garden damp, with the clean, electric smell of thunder and lightning. Hermione breathed it in.

“You’ve got your thinky face on. What are you thinking?” Ron let go of her hand and brushed her hair away from her neck. The trail of his fingers against her skin was oddly intimate, generating goosebumps down her middle back and making her lose her train of thought. There were things that needed to be said. She wanted to ask him about the significance of his words, what did it all mean?

Instead, she lowered herself down from the bench and faced him. Pushing the damp hair from his forehead with one hand, she cupped his jaw with the other and he submitted to her, gently presenting his face to her ministrations, allowing her to brush his cheek with her thumb and lightly trace his Cupid’s bow with her finger. Her heart was hammering in her chest and there were a million things, important things, that needed to be discussed, ironed out, worked through. She could feel them weighing on her like a cloak tied at her throat. Except suddenly none of them seemed quite as important as this, right here. As she pressed her mouth delicately onto Ron’s, Hermione imagined herself unfastening the ribbon and releasing the cloak to the floor, and they melted into the kiss, like taking a long awaited breath.


	12. Chapter 12

**Friends! We are finally here at the end- the weeks have flown in. The most heartfelt of thanks to every one of the people who took time to read this and especially to the ones who left me reviews: megalowkey, Ffreader1000, nirdoodle, LillyMay77, chemrunner57, Gja03, AzureAlquimista, LilyJean630, Headcanonsandmore, AlwaysKatie7, sarahxxxlovey, the_professional-cutemeister, teecey, Niel2804, Bgrangerweasley, RHr1912, avidreader, chrisw, zovumeAnja, Zalini, MoonstoneAndStarDust, manpower, ViviTheFolle, DameinToyland, Nxdeed and 11 Guests.**

**People told me I make their weekends when I post a new chapter but honestly, you make mine. Fanfic writers need readers in the same way readers need fanfic writers and I’m delighted people read this.**

**I hope it won’t be too long before I can post my next AU and see you all again very soon!**

**MAY: EMERALD**

**Emeralds are all about abundance and wealth and feature strongly in the lore surrounding Cleopatra. They embody love, rebirth, fertility and eternal youth. Gem cutters kept emeralds in their workshops- it was said that resting your eyes upon an emerald after a long day would invigorate and reduce strain.**

The clock ticked past midnight into May and they broke apart. She rested her hands on the mounds of his shoulders and pressed her forehead to his. Ron nudged her nose to the side and grazed his lips over hers, his hands resting on the backs of her thighs through the gauzy fabric of her dress. Her body responded in shivers and he lightly kissed the paler skin on the inside of her arm as it lifted in tiny bumps.

“Are you cold?”

“Yes. No. Probably. I can’t tell.” She smiled, her mind woozy and he grinned back, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Now you’ll be cold.”

He fingered the lapel. “Don’t deny me my one opportunity to be a gentleman please Hermione.”

“You’re always a gentleman.”

Ron snorted and stood up. Pulling her tight into his body he whispered into her hair, “You wouldn’t say that if you could hear all the things I’m thinking right now. A decent girl like you would be shocked.”

She craned her neck upward. “Dirty things?”

“Filthy.”

“Really filthy?”

“Depraved.”

“Come home with me?”

“Couldn’t stop me.”

She giggled into his shirt and started to pull away when he grabbed her hand. “Do something for me first?”

“Of course.”

“Come meet my family. George was under strict instructions not to mention anything about you to them so I’m sure by now they are fully informed and dying to get a look at you.”

“Oh Ron really?” Hermione’s hand went to her hair, then to her dress in quick succession. “I’m such a mess, I can’t meet them like this.”

“None of that crap please. You look gorgeous and I’m really looking forward to showing you off now. Wait ‘til my brothers cop you on my arm!”

He dragged her into the crook of his elbow and they walked together towards the music and chatter.

Despite the fortifying effect that alcohol usually had on her, Hermione’s nerves kicked up several notches as they walked through the party towards Ron’s mother and father who were sitting next to a large silver prism heater, basking in its glow and watching their children dance recklessly. It felt too soon to be doing this- they had literally just had their first kiss after effectively breaking up. Meeting someone’s parents could cause ruminating for days, not to mention many hot baths. She felt so ill prepared. 

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly given Ron’s easy manner, the experience was more than pleasant. Mrs Weasley was overwhelming in her welcome, insisting Hermione sit and talk to them, tell them about the jewellery shop, educate them on Twain, while his father, quietly charming, sat peaceably and attentively listening.

She was introduced to all his brothers, whose names she was embarrassed to realise she had completely forgotten later on, and finally his sister who was slightly quieter than her siblings, more watchful. Ron seemed to have a very close relationship with her husband, there was much jostling and whooping when they saw each other and Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione in a ‘what are they like?’ way, a gesture which Hermione took as a good sign.

In fact the only disappointing part of the evening was when Molly realised Ron hadn’t yet had anything alcoholic to drink and asked him to help his father ferry the revellers back to various local B’n’Bs, innocently unaware of their afterparty plans.

“It feels like the world is against us Mr. Weasley,” Hermione grumbled as she reluctantly returned his jacket.

He smoothed her hair back and planted a chaste kiss on her hairline. “I could just neck a bottle of wine and then I definitely wouldn’t be able to drive.” He paused, considering. “But then I would have to face my mum and there would be blood. Nope. We’ll have to make other arrangements Miss Granger.” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. A rowdy cheer went up behind them, the first of his passengers arriving, and they pulled apart.

“Are you staying with George tonight? I could wait up?”

“Nah, don’t do that, it’ll be late. Tempting as it is to see you in your jammies. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

~

Monday morning was bittersweet. Hermione dutifully admired the Egyptian themed window that Wilhelm had opted for. Ishtar had been a raging success, he had crowed, and by ‘raging success’ he meant that the complaint that Miles Foxcroft had put into the council about the display had been quashed. So he considered it a good omen to choose another female figure, with the hope that it might enrage him further. An elegant golden Cleopatra- also utterly naked- reclined on a chaise longue surrounded by luxuriously decadent necklaces, cuffs and pendants. Anubis sat to one side on guard, overlooked by a sparkling Eye of Horus with a green iris. On the floor of the display lay huge chunks of glass, also in emerald green, and suspended above, Swarovski crystal suncatchers refracting the first rays of May sunlight.

She set out the counter items, had elevenses with Wilhelm and Margot, ate lunch in the office with the VAT ledger and took delivery of a set of antique timepieces, destined for Washington once they had been properly processed. At 3pm she took her coffee out to the back yard, moved the little wrought iron chair to where the sun was feebly falling and sat drinking it, contemplating the last 48 hours.

True to his word, Ron had called her on Sunday morning, pleasingly excited to see her. They had breakfast at the little island in her kitchen and then walked languidly round the village, ending up by the pond where they sat hands clasped, knees pressed together in the chilly air.

It took them the best part of the day to circle the conversation round what was really the crux of the matter. It was like a nervous dance, both seemed to want to raise the issue but both seemed afraid. For Hermione, she knew that once they finally opened up that dialogue then this happy moment would break, maybe permanently. While they were discussing Wilhelm’s fight with the council or the outrageous price of shop signage, then they could stay in their bubble. They could pretend that they were exactly where they had been before China, in the midst of the slow unfurl of romance.

As they sat by the pond, breath clouding the air, Hermione knew it couldn’t last, that it was starting to feel odd and fake. She had resigned herself to the fact that she would bring it up when Ron spoke.

“So I’ll be honest and say that I have pretty much run out of things to say, Hermione. We’ve talked about my shop and your shop and my family and your family and, _I_ think, we’ve done a really good job of not talking about the fact that I have to go back to Edinburgh today and that we’re in the same position we were in before I moved back.”

She admired his ability to lighten the situation- it didn’t sound nearly as awful when Ron said it as it did inside her head.

“Yes, haven’t we done well? I wish it could last. Look,” she turned to him, bumping his knees with hers, “I need to tell you something about Bonfire Night.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure it will make any difference but when we were talking about long distance relationships that night and I was all against them…. It’s hard to explain. The first boy I dated moved back to Scotland when I was eighteen and we promised we would stay together but, of course, it didn’t happen because does it ever at that age? Anyway, he was back and he reminded me of how hurt I was when it didn’t work, I mean I was heartbroken but it wasn’t just that. It was all his talk about me being the boring one and him being the outgoing one..”

“He called you boring?” Ron looked disgusted.

“Well not boring, but words to that effect.”

“Dick.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thank you. It doesn’t matter, really. His opinion isn’t worth anything to me anymore. It was just a weird couple of days and then you were there and we were talking about your ex-girlfriend wanting to get back together with you possibly and that annoyed me too.” Hermione stopped and took a breath. “I’m aware this all doesn’t make any sense really but the point is, I said I was against long distance relationships because of my reaction to Callum barging in and saying he wanted to go backpacking and not really acknowledging that he had hurt me. In the context of you and me… it would be different.”

Ron sighed and rubbed his face with his spare hand. “I wish it was just that.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop. “What is it, then?”

It was his turn to swivel towards her. “Honestly Hermione, it’s everything. It’s the distance, it’s the job, it’s the whole friggin’ thing. If it was just a car journey to see you then that would be fine. I would do that, of course I would. Bur right now, there is just no time. Literally my life right now involves me getting up at ridiculous o’clock to do teleconferences, meet contractors and speak to suppliers. I’m in the shop all day or driving to warehouses or sitting on the internet researching and when I finally go to bed I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. And that’s every day, every week. When George told me about last night I had to drop it all and hope for the best. Can’t imagine what’s waiting for me when I go back.”

“Surely things will calm down. When the shop opens?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She looked at Ron as he stared out over the pond. “So where does that leave us?”

Ron let go of her hand, pulled her stiff, wary body under his arm and rested his chin on top of her head. “No idea. But now that you’re back with me, I don’t want to let you go. I know that much.”

She pressed her cheek to his chest. “Me neither.”

They sat quietly, watching a woman on the other side of the pond feeding lettuce to a little group of rowdy ducks. Hermione listened to the steady percussion of Ron’s heart through his jacket and allowed her mind to still for just a moment. She could allow herself that, couldn’t she? A few minutes just revelling in the sound of so much life in the man she was quite possibly mad about.

“So… backpacking?”

She glanced up at his doubtful face. “Mmmhmm. He was always coming up with crazy ideas like that.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very Hermione Granger thing to do, backpacking,” Ron replied, releasing her from his embrace as she sat up and brushed back her hair.

“I might surprise you Ron Weasley. Anyway, the backpacking wasn’t the problem. It was the going with Callum that was the problem. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To see a bit of the world. My brother Bill went travelling years ago; saw all over America. Said it was brilliant.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be nice,” she replied, still fiddling with her hair, “Maybe when we don’t have so much work to do.”

The thought made Ron grimace and check his watch. “Speaking of which..”

Hermione groaned and stood up with him. “So soon?”

“’Fraid so. Gotta get moving. I have an early start in the morning.”

He stretched and then pulled her towards him. “Seeing you has revitalised me Hermione, honestly,” he said, cradling her head in his hands, “I was so tired when I was travelling down here, like totally worn out. And in all honesty, I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t see you at the party- I thought you would make me feel worse. But you didn’t. Seeing you made me feel so much better.” He reached down and kissed her gently, mouths barely making contact before he pulled away. “It’s going to be difficult but can we try?”

She reached up and cupped her hand around Ron’s. “Yes. Please. Let’s try.”

~

With Ron working all week and through the weekend, Hermione used the time to complete her course workbook, submitting it a full two months ahead of schedule. It gave the expected zing of pleasure and accomplishment, though it seemed slightly less Technicolour because he wasn’t there to congratulate her or, more likely, tease her for being such a teacher’s pet. How strange to spend your whole adult life perfectly content to congratulate yourself on your own accomplishments and in the space of a year, something changes. A new breeze blows through your life and you aren’t quite the same. Not having Ron there to share in her contentment didn’t spoil Hermione’s feeling of triumph. It just seemed a tad dimmer than she felt it should.

Running herself a bath one evening, as she passed her hand through the water in a repetitive figure of eight she thought of Ron. Somehow, she hadn’t managed to get round to discussing the partnership with him. Of course, she reasoned as she settled into the water, there had been a lot going on. Just when she had gotten used to the idea of Ron not being in her life, suddenly there he was again. Admittedly there _had_ been several moments when she thought she might broach the subject, when it seemed like a good time, but she hadn’t.

She told herself she would wait until they saw each other face to face again before she broke her big news. Part of her desperately wanted his opinion on it and part of her…. Didn’t. She chose not to think about that part.

~

The upside of completing the first part of the coursework was that she got to dive into the second part early and she was greedily reading an article on purchasing, half concealed beneath a rectangle of velvet, when she spotted Angelina peering through the window at the display the following Monday. She motioned her inside, noting with pleasure with fabulous engagement ring on Angelina’s ring finger.

“It suits you,” Hermione smiled, gesturing at the diamond.

Angelina laughed and twisted the band gently. “I wouldn’t have picked it for myself but actually once I put it on it just looked perfect. I don’t know why.”

“You have long, tapered fingers. Few people can get away with a Marquise cut, it’s a very unusual choice but it really looks wonderful on you.”

“Did you have a hand in picking it Hermione?” Angelina replied, giving her a sly look, “I thought you might.”

“Not at all, I assure you. George knew what he wanted from the outset. I provided him with loads of choices but that one just kept catching his eye. Your fiancé has very good taste.”

Angelina’s mouth twisted. “Yes… I suppose it makes up for all the pranks he plays on me. Once he and Fred tipped an entire bucket of baked beans on my head, did you know that?”

Hermione mouth widened. “They didn’t!”

“They did,” Angelina tried to look stern and not laugh, “When we were at school. It was Fred’s idea, I think. He wanted to ask me to a school dance and was trying to find a way to catch my attention. Booby-trapped the common room door. Smelt like tomato sauce for weeks.”

“So wait, Fred asked you to the school dance?”

Angelina nodded. “I know weird isn’t it? I dated Fred at school and I’m marrying his twin. People are quick to say that they were so alike, you know, and that it must be like dating the same person but honestly they were different. Not completely, opposite ends of the spectrum different but in subtle ways you would only understand if you knew them both well. I always say that I would have ended up with George, even if…” She trailed off sadly.

“Even if Fred hadn’t died,” Hermione finished for her and Angelina nodded. She looked pensive for a beat before her face brightened.

“Fred would have been so pleased with Weasley’s Wonders. He and George had been dreaming about it for years and to see it happen and be so successful… I don’t think George believes it sometimes.” She caught Hermione’s wistful smile. “None of it would have been possible without Ron, you know. He really stepped up. I know George appreciates it even if he doesn’t really say it. You know boys and their feelings.” She paused and then added, “How is Ron by the way? I saw him briefly at the engagement party and I know George has been on the phone with him constantly about the new shop. How is he getting on?”

Hermione felt conflicted about how much to share with Angelina. On one hand, there was every chance she would relay whatever Hermione said to George and perhaps Ron didn’t want his brother to know how much the new shop was stressing him. Then again, Angelina was practically Ron’s family so it should be perfectly natural to discuss him with her.

“He’s ok, I think. I mean..” Angelina quirked an eyebrow. “There seems to be a great deal involved with the shop. He’s handling it, I mean he’s fine and everything.”

“But?”

“Welll…” Surely it was only a good thing to convey your concern for someone? Right? “I just think he’s finding it a lot to manage alone. Doing it without George. And it appears to be a lot bigger than what they did here.”

Angelina frowned. “Is he struggling? Why didn’t he say something to George?”

“Oh I wouldn’t say struggling,” Hermione blurted, suddenly foolish she had spoken, “I wouldn’t say struggling at all. Just… adjusting to the workload. Anyway, it’s very hard to get an accurate idea of how he is really. We hardly get time to talk.” _Shut up Hermione. Shut. Up._

“Can’t be much fun for you guys. New relationship and all.” Angelina’s words seemed weighty, as though attempting to inspire a confidence.

“Well obviously I want to see more of him….”

“They get you like that those Weasley boys. One minute they’re just annoying, the next you fancy them! Out of nowhere!”

Hermione grinned. “Yes. It was a bit of a surprise I have to say.”

“A good one though, right?”

“Oh yes,” she replied softly, “Yes, it was a good surprise.” She glanced up and caught Angelina’s eye and for a moment she felt something pass between them. An acknowledgement, perhaps or a shared sentiment. Whatever it had been, it disappeared as soon as it appeared. Angelina made excuses to leave soon afterwards and as Hermione watched her exit the shop, she hoped she had played it right. Surely Angelina could see Ron was a grown man, that he would ask for help if he needed it. Surely she would understand that.

~

That evening Hermione lay on her bed, pillow plumped behind her head, and drew patterns on the quilt with her finger as she listened to Ron talk about his week. His voice was weary, occasionally punctuated by yawns he tried to stifle.

“…. Douglas reckons we will be open in time for the school summer holidays which should boost early sales. So that’s good.” He seemed like he was trying to sound upbeat and she told him so. His response was a soft laugh. “Nothing gets past you Miss Granger. Or George it would seem.”

“What happening with George?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe I’m not as good at hiding my frustration as I used to be. Or maybe I’m _more_ frustrated. Whatever it is, was talking to him earlier and he came over all brotherly. Was I ok? Did I need him to come up here? I tried to reassure him everything was fine but he seemed jumpy. Dunno what’s got into him. Maybe I’m just imagining it. I’m knackered.”

Hermione’s stomach turned nervously as she thought back to Angelina. _Of cour_se she had spoken to George, why would Hermione be so insanely naïve as to expect otherwise? Ron sounded bemused though- not angry- so Hermione surmised that honesty would be the best policy.

“You aren’t just imagining it,” she replied lightly, almost teasingly, her voice reassuring him that what she would say next was no big deal, “Angelina was in the Snitch today and she was asking about you.”

She heard Ron suck in a breath. “What did you say to her?”

“Just that you were so busy. Nothing bad!”

“Did you tell her I wasn’t coping?” There was no trace of amusement left in his voice.

“No!” she exclaimed, then instantly regretted it as it made her sound more guilty, “Not at all! I just said you were adjusting to the workload. That it was a lot.”

There was a crackle on the phoneline which sounded a little like someone beating the phone off their forehead. “Oh Christ, no wonder George was leaving me voicemails, threatening to come up here. Bloody hell Hermione there was really no need! I mean, it’s difficult enough without everyone talking about me behind my back, making out I’m incompetent or something!”

“I never said you were incompetent Ron, I would never say that! I just said you were finding it tough.”

“Why? Why would you say that? I say that to you, I don’t tell my family that sort of thing. They don’t need to hear it! Haven’t they enough going on?”

Hermione felt her eyes prick and she swallowed before she spoke again. “Ron, I’m sorry. Please don’t yell at me. I was concerned about you, I _am _concerned about you. You’re… important to me.”

The knots in her belly twisted as she listened to him sigh. “It’s okay to be concerned about me,” he replied, his tone softer, “Just keep it to yourself ok? I don’t want my family worrying about this. They’ve been through enough.”

“Of course, I’m sorry”, she said again, “ Anyway, George get to see you this weekend and then all his fears with be allayed. He’ll know you’re fine.”

There was silence. “Yeah… about that.”

Three words to ruin an evening. If she hadn’t ruined it already. “Let me guess,” Hermione mumbled, wanting to be wrong and knowing she was not, “You have to work.”

Ron sighed heavily into the phone. “Don’t hate me. One of the investors is making a flying visit to the UK and literally the only time he can fit me in is Saturday. I can’t really say no.”

“What about Sunday?” She hated the hopefulness in her voice.

“Well, there’ll be dinner and drinks on Saturday night. That’s just the way these things are with them. By the time I’m up and fit to drive on Sunday, it’ll be time to go again.” This time Hermione stayed silent. “I know! I know it’s shit. Trust me, if it was a choice between sitting talking money with a bloke in an expensive suit or eating takeaway with you, you would win. Every time.” She felt slightly mollified. “Promise I will make it up to you.”

Hermione felt the knots in her stomach start up again. Next week Wilhelm’s solicitor was having his yearly meeting with the partners and Wilhelm had suggested that they also invite his tax accountant. She knew what that meant. It would the prime opportunity to start drawing up the partnership agreement and to discuss the tax implications.

“Well, since you aren’t going to be here…. I wanted to talk about this face to face but I suppose we’ll have to do it over the phone.”

“Ok, now I’m worried.” And Ron did sound worried. “Are you going to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’? Because honestly, not that I would blame you, but I object on all sorts of grounds. Not least because _I’m_ meant to be mad at _you_”.

“No it’s not that,” she said reassuringly and then paused.

“What? Bloody hell Hermione seriously what is it?”

“Wilhelm has offered to make me a partner of the Golden Snitch.” The sentence came out quickly and forcefully, nervously she thought, because his opinion mattered.

“As in, he’s going to let you buy-in?” Ron responded.

“Yes and no. I will have to put some of my own money in but it won’t be as much as it should be. He’s going to gift me part of the share. Essentially he will be dividing his share in half. We would be equal partners.”

She held her breath, the phone line quiet. “Well isn’t that a thing,” Ron’s reply came finally, “Wow.”

As he spoke Hermione realised, with the sting that only comes from suddenly understanding how little you know yourself, why she had held back from mentioning the partnership. It was this moment, when she revealed this huge opportunity, that had frightened her so much.

She had been an achiever all her life, had worked hard at everything she had put her mind to and reaped the benefits. She hadn’t always had it easy but she definitely didn’t have it hard. And she had revelled in it- she had always felt she deserved to. Why work so hard and do so well if you can’t enjoy it? In the silent seconds after Ron stopped speaking, she scoured through all her previous boyfriends, mentally ticking them off. All of them had been achievers, high flyers, in no doubt of where they were headed. Yet none of them had made her feel it was ok for her to be the same.

Of course they congratulated her when she did well, the ophthalmologist had taken her to Paris for the weekend when she passed her appraisal exams. But always she had felt a strange, niggling doubt that she did not entertain, that she didn’t examine too closely. Just in case her grandmother had been right. That she was too much. That it was ok for her to be successful as long as she didn’t boast too much about it, as long as it was slightly less than the other person’s.

And hadn’t her dating history painted that picture so well? Time and again, the men she dated faded out of her life. No-one actually came right out and told her but it seemed obvious now she thought about it. Holding fluent French conversations with Parisians when Michael couldn’t speak a word. Dragging Alexander up Snowdon because her friend from university had done it, despite the fact that Alex was known to drive the car to the local shop, so loathe was he to walk. Waxing lyrical about the jewellery profession at one of Ali’s work dinners when they had specifically gone to improve _his_ standing with the boss.

Hermione had not given much consideration to any of this before, apart from those irrational, late night worries she lay awake for sporadically. Somehow Ron put them in sharp relief. Because he didn’t seem to care. When she showed off, he praised her. When she was grouchily independent, he accepted it. She had flounced off in a major huff because he was leaving for Scotland and the next time he saw her one of the first things he said was how _he_ had screwed things up.

So it was obvious now. The fear of telling him was really a fear that he wouldn’t support her. That he could view her happy, gilt-edged news- dumped right in the middle of the most stressful time of his life- as some sort of personal insult. That her shine dimmed his somehow and that she was too bloody loud about how shiny she was anyway.

“What do you think?” Hermione finally asked, although she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

There was a pause. “It’s a wonderful opportunity Hermione. Honestly. Congratulations.” He was trying to sound excited but his tired voice couldn’t hold the tone. She felt herself deflate.

“I haven’t said yes yet, there’s a lot of details to work through. Do you think I should take it then?”

“Yes, of course,” Ron replied haltingly, saying all the right things in all the wrong ways. “Of course you should take it. Wow, a partnership.” There was another excruciating pause. “Look, not to be really dull but I’m going to have to a shoot off to bed. Been up since six.”

“Ok, will I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure, let’s talk to tomorrow. Congratulations again.” Ron disconnected and Hermione lay on the bed staring at the screen. It was exactly as she’d feared. Too much.

~

Friday dawned with the sort of shallow blonde sun that appeared inviting but left skin cool. Hermione, Margot and Mark were huddled in the back room, ostensibly drinking tea and eating millionaire’s shortbread while covertly listening to Wilhelm argue with Miles Foxcroft in the shop.

“I really feel you are deliberately trying to provoke me Wilhelm….”

“Not at all,” came the mild response, “I’m simply exercising my right as the owner of this establishment to dress my windows as I see fit. This isn’t personal Miles.”

“Lies,” Mark mumbled, nabbing another chocolate coated square.

“But another naked statue on display Wilhelm. There’s a toyshop above you- do you really feel this is appropriate?”

“Oh, there are naked statues everywhere Miles. Museums, art galleries, in parks for heaven’s sake. She was a gift from an old friend so I really had no say in her attire. I didn’t set out to ensure she was naked on purpose.”

“Lies,” Mark said again.

Hermione swatted him and stood up, yawning. “Enough of all this. Haven’t you somewhere else to be?”

Mark scrunched his nose, switching off from the heated conversation in the next room. “I always have somewhere else to be. I’d just rather be here eating cake.”

The bell jangled furiously, accompanied by the slamming of the door. Wilhelm sailed past them into the office wordlessly, a small satisfied smile on his face.

“That went well clearly.” Mark followed Hermione out to the counter and pointed to the green folder stacked next to the ledger. “Meryl leaves for Tanzania soon. Still time to apply to go with her.”

She frowned as she adjusted the bracelets under the glass. “I can’t just swan off Mark. I’m about to be made partner.”

“Why not? I do it all the time.”

“Leave! Go bother someone else.”

He grinned and made for the door. “See you next week, Lady Hermione.”

Hermione frowned again and turned to the ledger. Several engraving requests had come in during the week that she wanted to look at in more detail. The bell rang again.

“Mark, seriously…”

“Please, I’m much better looking than Mark.”

The sight of Ron Weasley standing in the doorway, red hair shot through with Spring sunlight, looking like a dream, gave Hermione feelings she couldn’t describe. She stood for a moment staring at him. They hadn’t spoken since the night she had told him about the partnership offer so this had the potential to be an awkward exchange. Undoubtedly, Ron’s expression displayed his uncertainty.

Surprising herself, Hermione skirted round the counter and threw herself at him, allowing him to envelope her in a bearhug. She revelled in the cool, clean smell of his hair and the warmth of his cheek pressed against hers.

“Wow. What a welcome.” Ron’s voice was muffled by her hair, which had sprung from its elastic in the excitement. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

She felt herself smile. “I know, me neither. But I’m happy to see you.”

He pulled away and grinned down at her. “Me too.”

“When did you get here?”

“Right now, this very second. I parked at the house and came straight here. I have something to tell you.”

Hermione dropped from her tiptoes, hands still curved round his shoulders. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Nope, not at all. Let me do this first though.” Ron bent his head and kissed her chastely, as though aware they were standing in the middle of a shop in daylight. “Congratulations on the partnership. You will be amazing at it. I’m sorry I didn’t say so on the phone.”

“You did. You said congratulations..”

“No I mean properly! Like I meant it, which I really do.”

“Well you have a lot going on and Weasley’s Wonders…”

“Oh screw Weasley’s Wonders!” Ron bellowed, “Never mind about all that. Don’t apologise for me Hermione. I should have been excited for you and I wasn’t. I was too caught up in my own misery and that was wrong. My girlfriend is 30 and she’s going to made partner. That’s a reason to celebrate!” He jiggled her in his arms.

Hermione felt herself bask in his use of the word ‘girlfriend’. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

He leant back. “Yes and no. That was the most important thing I wanted to tell you. But there’s something else too. What I also wanted to tell you was that your meddling in my professional life actually did some good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, much as I hate to admit it, you were right about talking to George. The day after we talked on the phone he drove up to see me. Left Angelina in charge of Weasley’s Wonders and everything. It gave us the time we needed. Got it out in the open.”

“And?”

“And I told him the truth. I was scared to, obviously, because I didn’t want to add anymore worry to his life but actually, I think he was glad.” Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I was surprised to. Weirdly, he had been feeling guilty about it. Said he knew deep down that Weasley’s Wonders wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life and that really, he should have been working out ways to relieve me a long time ago. Instead he gave me another shop to run and he had been feeling bad about it. He mentioned you too. Said he hadn’t realised how serious I was about you until it was too late. I had no idea I was so transparent.”

“Really?” Hemione wasn’t sure where this was headed. Should she be happy? Consoling? “So what happened?”

“You’re so impatient,” he chided, bopping her nose with his finger. “Well a lot of talking and looking at figures and paperwork and then we got my parents on the phone and went over it all again with them and then my brothers and Ginny…”

“So? What was the outcome?” She was bouncing on her toes now.

“The outcome was that I’m going to see Weasley’s Wonders Edinburgh through to the end of the year and then I’m letting it go.”

The bouncing stopped. “Letting it go? As in, not working there anymore?”

Ron nodded assertively. “Yep. My mother has enlisted my brothers to help out with the Scottish shop. So it won’t be all on me. And George is going to start looking for someone to replace me full time after Christmas. So in January I will be officially out of work. Dunno what I’ll do with myself but I’ll figure it out.”

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure what to say. This was new territory to her; never had she ever walked away from Plan A without Plan B solidly waiting to catch her, in any aspect of her life. Surely the scariest thing in the world was having no plan of action?

The strange thing was though, Ron didn’t look scared. In fact, for the first time since he had unveiled the plans to move to Edinburgh, he looked… happy. Relieved. The pleasure in revealing this news to her was radiating off him. Instantly the blue/black colouring under his eyes seemed to have lightened, his weary shoulders had lifted; he looked more like the man excited by the garnet chess set or the one who had laughed so long and hard about her first kiss story.

Control and order were things that Hermione revered but, in a sudden bolt of realisation, she understood that she would have to release a hold over both, just a little, if she wanted to keep Ron in her life. And that understanding wasn’t as painful as she thought it could have been. In fact, it opened her up to Ron’s happiness. She wrapped her arms round him and pulled him tight.

“Congratulations,” she whispered, meaning it.

“Thanks. I was worried about telling you, in case you thought I was insane.”

She looked up into his face and shook her head, curls flying about her cheeks. “No. I don’t think it’s insane at all.”

Ron grinned and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her up to meet him, big arms curled round her body. All the points where his body touched hers felt like they were alight. It was like running through open doors.

“And the best of the best news is, I’ve negotiated some time off. George is going to make plans to return to Edinburgh for a few weeks, leaving yours truly with some much needed downtime.”

She kept her face close to his as she replied, “And what do you think you’ll do with your ‘downtime’?”

“I was thinking,” he said airily, “Of taking a holiday. How about it? Want to come with me?” He rubbed his nose gently against hers.

She groaned. “Yes! Oh my god, yes I would love to go away with you. Where will we go?”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere exotic. Far flung. Somewhere we can see a bit of the world.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at a glossy green folder discarded on the shelf and turned back to him. “How do you feel about Tanzania?”


End file.
